


pornography

by escspace



Category: Noblesse (Manhwa)
Genre: Blood, Bondage, Breathplay, Doctor/Patient, Double Penetration, Dry Orgasm, Emetophilia, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, Gangbang, Getting fucked with a gun, Knifeplay, M/M, Modern Ragar AU, Multiple Orgasms, Object Insertion, Overstimulation, Rape Fantasy, Surgery, Suspension, Tentacles, Threesome, Toys, Urethral Play, Vivisection, hermaphrodite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2020-10-03 20:41:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 25,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20459162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escspace/pseuds/escspace
Summary: Contents:1. Raizel teaches Ragar the art of fucking Frankenstein.2. Frankenstein likes sucking cock. (Raizel/Frankenstein/Ragar)3. Raizel's tentacles fuck all of Frankenstein's holes.4. Frankenstein is a doctor; trust him. (Frankenstein/Raizel)5. Frankenstein and Rai are being naughty at school.6. That's...not where that goes. (Raizel/Frankenstein)7. Someone sees something they shouldn't. (Raizel/Frankenstein/Ragar)8. Raizel and Frankenstein can't fucking keep it in their pants what the fuck.9. Raizel and Frankenstein have some sad romance.10. Frankenstein shows Muzaka how to properly succ Rai.11. Frankenstein helps Raizel with math homework.12. Ragar shoots and stabs Frankenstein.13. Frankenstein cuts Ragar up and almost fucks his organs.14. The Orchid Club (Frankenstein/Ragar, Ragar/a bunch of strangers)





	1. Raizel teaches Ragar the art of fucking Frankenstein.

“Ragar, stop.” Raizel reached out with a gentle hand to halt him. His gaze sofly drifted down to Frankenstein’s eyes, blown wide open. “You must take care to observe him to tell when he will come.” He smiled with signature tenderness. “And then to deny him from doing so.”

Ragar sighed almost audibly, which was a rare treat. “Why must we do this—why withhold what he wants?”

“Because that is precisely what he desires. Frankenstein is fulfilled not only by physical release, but he enjoys, as you enjoy, a good effort and has graciously entrusted himself to us.”

“Indeed, you speak wisely, Sir Raizel.”

Beneath them, legs wrapped around Ragar’s waist and wrists pinned by Raizel’s hands, Frankenstein closed his eyes and shuddered. He moaned pleadingly through the ball gag in his mouth. Drool had long dripped through the pattern of holes in the gag and wet his chin. There was something animal about it: being able to voice his pleasure but not allowed any words; drool was inevitable and uncontrollable with this type of gag. It was made specifically to make a mess of people.

His cock and hips twitched, and he attempted to grind against Ragar to resume the mounting heat and pleasure, but could not finish himself. Achingly, he wished to reach down and pleasure himself until completion, but his wrists could only slightly twist in Raizel’s firm and warm hold.

“You may continue,” Raizel said, and Ragar complied.

They went on for some time, Raizel on careful watch and prompting Ragar as he deemed appropriate. Then, he leaned down to place a kiss on Frankentein’s forehead, one to comfort him through his heated effort and long forgotten composure. The ball gag was wet and shined as Raizel removed it. He lifted Frankenstein’s head slightly, tilting it back, and ran a thumb over his eager and glistening lips. Frankenstein’s mouth easily opened for him when he thrusted into his throat.

Looking down, he could see the effort in Frankenstein’s throat around him. “You are doing well,” Raizel praised as Frankenstein struggled to breathe and squirmed. “Perhaps we will let you come if you are dutiful with your mouth, Frankenstein.”

He made an obedient sound, both strained and loving, tongue moving in pleasing ways as he swallowed around Raizel. He was being fucked both ways.

Above him, Raizel leaned forward and extended a hand, drawing Ragar’s attention and face towards him. He kissed him wetly as best as he could through the mask Ragar religiously wore.

Raizel was always uncountably gentle and accepting, Ragar thought. No one matched his grace even in such indecorous activities, or perhaps especially in such activities. “Finish in him and watch him squirm for you, Ragar,” Raizel told him.

Raizel may have been no one’s master but Frankenstein’s, but he was Ragar’s Noblesse, and as such, his authority was still absolute. He was reserved, quiet, and for a long time, distant. To be in Raizel’s company was an occasion reserved only for those deserving or those executed. But here Ragar was, intimately close with two people who were arguably the closest things to those gods dreamt up by humans. He was honored by their company.

Ragar thrusted sharply, and Frankenstein’s chest rose and fell as he made what sounds he could and trembled with electrifying and undoing gratification. When Ragar came, he did watch as Raizel bid him to do. Frankenstein shook and fell weak with it, his cock dripping as much as his mouth.

“You know his pleasure well, Sir Raizel,” Ragar said, tugging at his mask. He sighed, content.

Raizel smiled softly, demurely, and with a hint, just a hint, of pride, like he had just shared a vastly interesting secret with a close friend. He looked to Frankenstein again. “You are twitching so much, Frankenstein, and are so wet. Do you wish to come that much?”

“Mmn!” Frankenstein huffed, mouth still full. He arched a little towards Raizel.

“Swallow, Frankenstein, and then you may come for us.” As Ragar backed away, Raizel leaned forward until he supported himself with one arm over Frankenstein. His free hand, he grasped and squeezed and stroked that all too pleading cock. When Raizel decided he would come, he placed his own mouth on him, sucking at the glans as he filled Frankenstein’s mouth and throat.

Frankenstein diligently swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut and moaning, on the verge of choking, as cum slid down his throat, though some managed to escape him. His hips jerked towards Raizel once or twice, and he too came, pleasured cries muffled by cock and cum. He coughed and breathed in lungfuls of air when Raizel lifted off of him. It was a short while before he found his words again. “Thank you,” he rasped. “Thank you…” It seemed as if those were the only words he could find.

Raizel smiled sweetly.

Ragar bowed respectfully and went to fetch a couple of warm, damp towels and a small pail of hot water.

While Frankenstein was an impressive man who knew how to imitate most noble abilities, he was still anatomically human with human dispositions towards sex. Naturally, he came when he was pleasured enough and begged when he was desperate enough. And when he was done, he was spent.

Ragar and Raizel, on the other hand, were nobles, and nobles had no need to reproduce sexually, as such, sex was more performative—an imitation of what was human—but pleasure was pleasure, and they had the necesarry facilities to experience it too. They were not ‘brought’ to orgasm, however, but rather it was a conscious and intentional action, as much as it was to stand up or sit down, or walk or run. It was pleasing, but they were not spent, per se, as there was nothing to spend.

As such, after such activities, Ragar and Raizel took it upon themselves to comfort and clean Frankenstein as much he needed to be, as this was one of the rare occasions Frankenstein allowed this. Ragar returned, his mask taken off for washing later, with the water and towels as Raizel was brushing Frankenstein’s hair out of his face and kissing him as lightly as newly falling rain on this quiet, quiet night.

“Thank you, Ragar.” Raizel nodded as he was handed a towel.

They both tended to Frankenstein with care. Another night, mundane and lulling, passed them by.


	2. Frankenstein likes sucking cock.

“Does this please you, Sir Raizel?”

“Yes, very much so.” Raizel smiled as gently as he was taken to be. He sighed both in appreciation and just for the simple act of making sound, to make up for Ragar’s steadfast silence. Still, he could hear the indecorous sounds of slick against skin as Ragar slid in and out of him with utmost care and reverence that at times startlingly rivaled that of Frankenstein’s, an impressive feat. He shivered and tilted his head, welcoming Ragar to work his neck with lips and teeth and tongue, though still covered by that mask.

Raizel was not Frankenstein, and would not criticize him for it, as the other man was so fond of doing to Raizel’s minor disapproval and Ragar’s exasperation. The mask was a mark of Ragar’s clan, and Ragar was dutiful; this, Raizel knew and respected.

“_ My liege… _”

‘Sir, Liege, Lord, Master,’ those were all things he was called. They were lofty titles, ones that implied a distance between the one addressing and the one addressed, but, strangely, when spoken so closely, carefully, and breathlessly, they became impossibly intimate. Raizel was ‘_ my _ liege’ and ‘ _ my _master,’ and that simple, personal claim made him feel giddy and intimately known. He blushed.

Ragar looked at him with naive wonder as he lowered himself to kiss at Raizel’s neck.

...Perhaps Frankenstein did have a point about the mask after all, Raizel vaguely thought as the damp cloth met his skin, but he dismissed it, closing his eyes to enjoy Ragar’s personal brand of affection.

Ragar was sweet and slow, despite his clan’s signature. He was one to savor in the most innocent way—like one savoring iced lemonade clinking in a glass in the summer—and did not usually tend to toys and brutal-sweet torture on his own. To Ragar, pleasure was pleasure, and pain was pain, simple. To say Ragar was fucking Raizel was perhaps technically correct, but it lacked a connotation that was appropriate for his demure and appreciative gentleness. When he thrusted, deeply and smoothly and warmly into Raizel, dragging pleasure against his inner walls, he was pleasing, servicing, love making, or any other word that described this particular and quiet attention.

“I want to come,” Raizel whispered, lacing his fingers into Ragar’s ponytail and then silkily brushing through it. “Come with me, Ragar.”

“As you wish, my liege” Ragar said and reached down to grasp and stroke Raizel as best he could as he nuzzled against him.

Raizel shifted his hips to accommodate and ride out his pleasure. Softly and with only the amount of fanfare necessary for two very quiet people, they finished together, their natural psychic acuity allowing them to be in tune just enough to do so.

* * *

Frankenstein was another story utterly, and Raizel appreciated this too. There was charm in his trembling thighs and strained, vocal cries, and, when pushed, his begging and his tears. Frankenstein liked to be pressed to the edge over and over again. He liked being stretched in more ways than one. He liked dominance and submission. He liked indulging in what was painful and pleasurable with abandon. Brought to the brink of orgasm and then forcefully and harrowingly being denied, or being made to come until he was exhausted beyond comprehension, those were his indulgences. Raizel wondered which it would be tonight. Both, perhaps.

Frankenstein liked being bound, shoved against the wall, and taken, hips grinding. It thrilled him, made his blood roar, made him grin widely when he didn’t have his mouth stuffed with a gag or a cock, which was now his current condition.

He was on his knees, a vibrator in his ass, and his master’s cock in his mouth, one hand on Raizel’s thigh and the other wrapped around Ragar and jerking him off. Debauched did not begin to describe his appearance as he moaned around a mouthful like he had never tasted anything so good. To be precise, Raizel knew he didn’t taste like anything in particular; nobles, for all intents and purposes, were sterile, but that didn’t stop Frankenstein from making a show of it.

Raizel, blushed and pleased and watching, pressed Frankenstein’s head tightly to his hips, forcing his cock down that throat, and this, he could tell from a twitching erection and furrowed brows, pleased Frankenstein. Raizel came generously, as was generally preferred, in his mouth, making Frankenstein work to swallow it all. 

Frankenstein coughed when released but quickly regained himself, though a trail of cloudy drool dripped sluggishly from his chin onto the floor. “Thank you, Master…” he said, looking up at Raizel in the haze of a fevered dream.

Raizel weaved his fingers into Frankenstein’s hair, and he leaned into his touch. With gentle intent but forceful performance, Raizel tightened his hold almost enough to cause minor pain and shoved Frankenstein’s face into Ragar’s crotch. “There is still another, Frankenstein.”

After a moment of surprise, Frankenstein parted his lips that had been pressed to Ragar. He licked and kissed obediently.

When Raizel glanced over at Ragar, he saw him eyes wide and face red. He reached up to tug at his mask and quietly cleared his throat as if he himself had done something very improper and was embarrassed for it. Then, something else came over him as he softly gazed down at Frankenstein skillfully and noisily sucking at him. Raizel recognized the expression in his eyes; it was one he would catch Frankenstein with at times when Raizel was on his mind, but this, this one was from Ragar towards Frankenstein. It was a softness, an utter appreciation, a reverence—worship and desire in one.

Though Ragar held a tender and comely friendliness towards Raizel, the one who made his heart gallop, whom Ragar would always ask for when he visited their mansion in Lukedonia a long, long time ago, whom Ragar would always be found in the company of, was Frankenstein.

Frankenstein parted from Ragar but continued working him with his hand as he said, “Do you want to come in my mouth or on my face?”

Ragar almost jumped at the question. He looked flustered and stared in silence for a beat. “Uh-m…”

Raizel quietly extended his sympathies towards him.

“What troubles you the least,” Ragar finally said.

Frankenstein rolled his eyes. “My mouth then. There’ll be less to clean afterw—” He took a breath and shuddered, buckling over slightly, bowing his head. “A--ah…” 

Raizel had turned up the vibrator. He raised a foot to step on Frankenstein’s blushing, dripping cock and ground the bottom of it against him. “It appears that you’ve already made quite a mess, Frankenstein.”

“Mm…! Yes...Master.” He sighed. “Yes, Master.” Frankenstein raised his head again and resumed the imperative task of sucking Ragar off.

Raizel leaned over and whispered something into Ragar’s ear. Ragar nodded once thoughtfully and then suddenly grabbed at Frankenstein’s hair. He held his head as he started sharply thrusting, driving his cock straight down Frankenstein’s throat.

Frankenstein, caught off guard, struggled to cough, but complied quickly enough, relaxing his throat enough to not hurt, but it all still made his eyes water. He breathed through his nose but even that was difficult with the sudden violence.

Raizel, vibrator controller in hand, busied himself with its various buttons and functions.

“Nnngff!” was about the extent of Frankenstein’s verbal communication at this point as his hips twitched and tensed, his cock hopelessly hard and on edge.

When Ragar came, he too pressed Frankenstein closely to him, and Frankenstein almost exclaimed as cum washed his mouth and throat. He swallowed and swallowed, making an effort to keep up as his legs threatened to give out under him. Still drinking down, Frankenstein shuddered, hips rutting against nothing as he climaxed, heavily spilling himself over his own throbbing cock and the floor. His eyes shut tight, he moaned, long and breathless, lips stretched and resting against Ragar.

Frankenstein sputtered and gulped down air when Ragar withdrew. He lowered his head and braced a hand against Ragar’s thigh as if needing help to keep himself upright as the vestiges of his orgasm shook him. Leftover cum generously spilled over his lips and splattered onto the floor, where some of it joined Frankenstein’s own.

Frankenstein closed his mouth and cleared his throat. “That was…” he breathed. “...That was _ a lot. _”

Ragar blinked and blushed brightly. He opened his mouth to say something but then thought better of it, opting to tug at his mask instead.

“I had requested it of him,” Raizel filled in, turning off the vibrator.

“Oh.” Frankenstein took notice of the sudden loss of stimulation and perked up. “We’re not done yet, are we?” he said and smiled.

Raizel smiled back, conceding.


	3. Raizel's tentacles fuck all of Frankenstein's holes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tentacle Rai requested by BoaHancock1.

_ Lukedonia, a long time ago. _

Perhaps Frankenstein should have questioned why it was that his master was always covered from head to toe, clothes always neat and proper, even when they were intimate with each other for the first few times. Even in battle, Raizel remained dressed like his life depended on it.

Frankenstein had taken it to be just another one of Master’s peculiarities. He liked his buttons done, his shirts unwrinkled, his pants straight. It was just one of those things, and Frankenstein understood that neatness perfectly well, as he was that way when it came to his home and his things—everything dusted, arranged, pretty.

It only seemed odd when, finally, Frankenstein insisted upon undressing Raizel in the bedroom one night, and Raizel blushed furiously, even more so than when he was taking Frankenstein, spreading his legs and his ass and making him cry in delight. Taking off a shirt, Frankenstein thought, was a mild affair compared to what they had already done.

“Does it make you that uncomfortable, Master, to be unclothed?” Frankenstein asked gently, taking off his own black jacket and black ribbon.

Raizel was looking at him, watching him as he took off his shirt, revealing his muscles and unscarred skin—pristine, pretty. “Your form is beautiful, Frankenstein…” Master softly uttered with all of his grace.

It made Frankenstein feel warm, and he blushed a little at the pure gentle honestly Raizel had.

“But mine is...unconventional. It is not like that of the others,” Raizel admitted finally.

Frankenstein tilted his head, suddenly very curious. “What do you mean, Master?” From the outside, he certainly appeared normal.

“I am _ marked, _ Frankenstein. I am unlike you.”

“Does it embarrass you, Master?”

Raizel looked down and considered for a long while. Then he said, “I only fear that it might make you turn away, though I know that is irrational. But it is a sign of my lineage, and in the past, the others would avert their eyes upon seeing it. They feared it. It had become, to them, a sign of death.”

Frankenstein leaned forward and tenderly took his master’s hands into his own. “Master...will you let me see it? Marked or not, your body is yours, and I will marvel at it all the same.”

Raizel gazed up at him and into his eyes with vast innocence and consideration, like Frankenstein had said something profound and not completely mundane. Then, Raizel gently nodded. In a soft hush, his silky white shirt fluttered away in bits and pieces like petals in the wind. The bright red was striking against his glowing pale skin. All over his shoulders, his chest, his back, his stomach were ribbons as if painted on. They extended from his shoulder blades outwards and wrapped around him like guarding wings or silken robes. Looking closely, they almost seemed to shimmer and shift with an amorphous life, as if they could flicker and come off of his skin at any moment.

Raizel looked a little nervous as he glanced up at Frankenstein.

Frankenstein smiled, appreciative and comforting. “Are my eyes averted, Master?” he asked.

“They are not,” Raizel said.

He reached out to trace those red marks with a warm hand from Raizel’s shoulder down across his chest. “Am I afraid, Master?”

“You are not.”

Frankenstein sighed and lied back on their lofty bed, sprawling out seductively. “Will you have me, Master?”

Raizel’s expression softened into a smile. “I will.”

* * *

_ The Chairman Lee Residence, last night. _

Frankenstein had requested something fun tonight (not that every night together wasn’t fun).

Master graciously took off his shirt, and his red ribbons flickered to life. They lifted off of his skin, taking on depth and width as they did so, becoming far reaching tendrils that shifted and morphed into and out of each other almost like a liquid. They slid against Frankenstein’s skin with heat, and Frankenstein extended his arms to welcome them as they wrapped around him, all over, coiling and trapping him in Master’s regard. They went to places that felt best, because Raizel knew what Frankenstein liked.

A thick one shoved its way into his mouth, muffling him as others squeezed and rubbed and poked and prodded seemingly everywhere at once. Tonight, Frankenstein anticipated, he was going to be fucked senseless.

The tendrils, wrapped around his arms, thighs, body easily lifted him, and he found himself hair hanging down towards the ground and head and neck tilted back, legs forcefully spread apart. He couldn’t see it, but he knew his already hard cock was wet for anything that was about to come.

Master pulled him close, grinding their hips and erections together, and Frankenstein sighed through his nose. He swallowed as thinner ribbons pried past his stretched lips to join the tendril crawling down his throat.

The red of Master’s extraneous appendages shifted and luminesced, and Frankenstein found them all very pretty. Ones at thin as digits slipped inside of him. They coiled together, preparing and stretching him well, but he was quickly ready for something more.

And more he received. He moaned and made a face awash with pleasured delight when Master finally shoved his cock into him alongside multiple tendrils that filled him completely. He felt so tight. Master felt so huge. Few things were better than this.

Then, they moved, all at once, Master’s dick, Master’s tendrils, inside, outside, everywhere, grasping and coiling at everything, overwhelming him.

There were those that were thin and pointed and they pierced into Frankenstein’s nipples, and he jolted at the sudden sharp pain. He shivered and huffed, finding it difficult to breathe with his mouth and throat so stuffed.

The way everything moved made him dizzy with how good it all was. Lifted into the air, supported only by Master and his tendrils, Frankenstein felt helpless, at the mercy of all the heat sliding against his skin. When Master and that thick mass of spiralling ribbons thrusted into him, he thought he could see god. It all electrified him with feeling good and blind.

There was one coiled tightly around his shaft and balls, mercilessly squeezing and stroking him, and it made his cock wet and slick with his precome, but then it arced upwards and then pried _ into _ his slit. Frankenstein felt it enter his urethra, reaching down until it touched something that made him thrash and cry out, tossing his head back. His chest heaved, his body mercilessly prodded and pleasured. Every hole that he had that was fuckable was being fucked; Frankenstein was sure of this. There were tears in his eyes from the sheer intensity of it, and his fingers stretched out to curl and grasp at any tendril that would give him that mercy, because he had to hang on to _ something. _

He was climaxing uncontrollably, even as he couldn’t spill any of his cum from having his dick choked and urethra tightly penetrated all the way to his relentlessly targeted prostate that was stroked from both the front and back. He shook tremendously with it, crying out and whimpering through his mouthful. His throat squeezed around the mass reaching far down into him, body in a constant state of convulsion around the tendrils and on his master’s cock.

_ Oh god, oh fuck— _

The thought was cut off as another dry orgasm slammed into him, though he was dripping wet everywhere. It felt like dying. He was going to cum and die; that was how it was.

_ Master, I’ll burst! I’m cumming—I’m cumming so much—Master! _

Raizel huffed sweetly as his hips slammed into Frankenstein’s, brutally extending his high until he could reach yet another one, his fucked and squeezed cock twitching desperately with it in front of Raizel.

“Do you wish to spill your cum, Frankenstein?” Raizel asked soothingly, deceptively so.

_ Yes, yes please, Master, please. _ Frankenstein arched into him, wrapped his legs tighter, and shoved his hips to meet his master’s. He found himself being lowered onto the bed, and Raizel continued thrusting into him, fucking him into the sheets now.

He gasped sharply as the tendrils suddenly withdrew from his throat, feeling like they would rip it apart. He used the opportunity to moan senselessly, voice hoarse. “Oh, Master!” His mouth was quickly occupied again, however, by Raizel’s soft lips and tongue, devouring him whole, not giving him a moment or space to breathe.

Master’s cock shoved inside of him was always divine, but those tendrils squeezed in alongside it were rapture. They filled him so far, Frankenstein could swear he could feel them in his stomach, splitting him in half and breaking his mind.

His senses were hardly coherent, like sparks of fire constantly pinging his nerves. With effort, Frankenstein momentarily tore himself away from the constant kissing to lean his head back and simply cry out his pleasure in Raizel’s so entirely encompassing hold. “Oh god, oh god, Master!” He shivered. A broken screaming escaped him. He blinked rapidly, clearing nonexistent stars in his vision. His limbs wanted to yank and curl into himself, but they were firmly held apart, offering him no chance to retreat even momentarily from his senses.

Master, blushing healthily and wearing such a strangely demure expression for what he was doing to Frankenstein’s body, sighed appreciatively and closed his eyes. Frankenstein felt Master let himself come inside of him, making those closely pressed tendrils and his insides hot and dripping wet. It was all too much, and Frankenstein could hardly find it in himself to even moan as he was filled further by cum alongside all the cock and tentacles.

His cock twitched and his balls tightened, wanting so much to _ please, Master, grant me release. _ The thin tendril continued to prod deeply inside him from the front. He thought he would cum every time it thrusted and twisted inside of him. And then, it withdrew, and the one wrapped tightly around his cock loosened to only a pleasant firmness that stroked him insistently. He came almost immediately, body electrified by it, hips twitching. He was trembling as he spilled over himself so much he thought he might have wet himself. The tendril was replaced by Master’s hand, working his sensitivity as he blindly spilled all that was coiled inside him. He found it in himself to moan, hands tightly gripping the masses they found as he agonizingly rode out his final orgasm. “So much...so much, Master…” he rasped breathlessly.

Still hazed and pinging with sensation, Frankenstein vaguely felt the tendrils withdraw. They flattened again into pretty red ribbons on Master’s skin as he lowered himself to lie next to Frankenstein, holding him from behind and pulling out.

Master’s cum gushed out of him, and Frankenstein moaned long and low, body still jerking forward. He was a cluster of overstimulated nerves, and he grasped at the sheets as his fucked out cock lazily spat out the last of its clear-cloudy liquid. He buried his face into the pillow and huffed out into it, moaning his come down.

Master reached a hand over his shoulder and placed a gentle, comforting kiss behind his ear. “Good job, good job, Frankenstein,” he whispered.

Frankenstein breathed. “Thank you...Master,” he said, voice broken and soft and sleepy. He was nearly passing out, and when Master, calm and soothing, rested his head against his back with a content sigh, he did.

* * *

_ The Chairman Lee Residence, half an hour later. _

Frankenstein should have expected as much when he awoke and attempted to get out of bed to start his day only to find his legs given out from under him and his hips and body aching. He was bent over the bed, supporting himself on his arms. His thighs were wet from the slick pouring out of him. Neither had taken the time to clean before passing out.

He rubbed a hand over his face and gently slapped his cheek, attempting to wake the rest of his body up, but Raizel awoke first.

“Frankenstein,” Master called as he sat up. “You do not need to rush yourself.”

“I am fine, Master.” Frankenstein smiled and with hard headed confidence, pushed himself completely upright. He gasped and slightly buckled over, clenching his insides.

Raizel watched the spectacle with amused exasperation, a touch of concern in his understanding smile. “Have a seat, Frankenstein. I will tend to you first.”

“Ah...yes, Master…” Frankenstein, a little embarrassed and admittedly grateful, quietly obeyed.


	4. Frankenstein is a doctor; trust him.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Top “doctor” Frankenstein/Raizel requested by Banana Boat.

It did not escape Raizel’s notice how long Frankenstein went without resting, whether that be working on a new experiment or tending to the injured or putting his life and soul on the line every time he fought. This time, Frankenstein had been in the lab underneath their home for nearly a week.

Raizel shut his notebook—he was done studying for the night—and quietly made his way down there.

He found Frankenstein wearing his lab coat and muttering at a monitor full of things he did not understand.

“Frankenstein,” Raizel called softly.

Frankenstein almost seemed startled, which was only an indication of how tired he was. He turned around and bowed. “Master…”

Raizel stepped towards him as he rose again. He looked into his eyes, and they were tired, but still, they received Raizel gently. “You must rest, Frankenstein.” It was too much: using the Blood Spear in a battle that grievously injured him, immediately treating the other injured afterwards without pause, and still finding the energy and time to present Raizel with all his usual luxuries—tea and cookies and dinner and good graces. “You have done so much already.”

“I’m alright, Master…” Frankenstein unconvincingly murmured. “I just—I’m almost done.”

Raizel pressed his lips together, unsatisfied and still concerned, but it was difficult to convince Frankenstein otherwise if he had set his mind to it. Frankenstein liked to do what he liked to do, and that included neglecting himself. Then, Raizel vaguely remembered something: seduction. Frankenstein enjoyed his indulgences as much as his sacrifice, Raizel knew, so he stepped even closer, looked up into Frankenstein’s eyes, and draped an arm over his shoulder. “I think I am feeling a little feverish, Frankenstein…” he whispered against his neck.

Frankenstein jolted. “What? Are you unwell, Master?” Forgetting decorum at the moment, he grabbed Raizel’s shoulder and held him back to press the back of his hand against his forehead. “How long ago did your symptoms start? You don’t _ feel _ hot…”

Raizel was only briefly and genuinely startled by Frankenstein’s treatment. He let out a small sigh; Frankenstein always took him so seriously. He tried again, leaning forward against Frankenstein’s shoulder. “Are you certain I am not ‘hot,’ Frankenstein?” His hands parted Frankenstein’s lab coat and caressed his body, sliding warmly down his sides until his fingers could tuck themselves under Frankenstein’s belt. “Perhaps we should have a more thorough examination, ‘_ Doctor...’ _”

At last, Frankenstein seemed to get the message as he blushed brightly. “Ah...yes, perhaps we should.”

Raizel smiled a little and kissed at Frankenstein’s neck, successfully distracting him.

“I’ll have to take a closer look…” Frankenstein’s hands smoothly divested Raizel of his white jacket and then quickly undid his buttons. His shirt followed his jacket on the table. Frankenstein backed away a little to look at his exposed body. “You are right; I was mistaken. You are indeed ‘hot.’”

Raizel blushed, but he did not avert his enticing gaze.

“But I should make sure…” A little suddenly, Frankenstein hoisted Raizel onto the edge of the table and leaned over him, a hand running over his ribs and then resting on his hip. He breathed against the side of his neck and sucked red marks on his skin.

Raizel tilted his head back and sighed. Quietly, he said, “Do not forget, Frankenstein, this is a _ thorough _ examination.”

“Of course.” Frankenstein smiled. His hand wandered to Raizel’s pants and then over his crotch. He rubbed firmly over the fabric there, pressing and massaging at Raizel’s erection as his heated mouth continued savoring his skin.

Feeling good and content with Frankenstein’s performance so far, Raizel pressed his hips upward into that hand and wrapped his legs around his waist.

Frankenstein huffed out a gentle chuckle. “I should examine the inside as well… Do I have your permission?”

“You have my permission, ‘Doctor.’” Raizel was feeling playful.

Eagerly, Frankenstein slid off Raizel’s pants and underwear, but his dress socks stayed.

Raizel again wrapped his legs around him and pressed against Frankenstein’s own length hardening under his black pants. He ground against him, simultaneously inviting and innocent. “You will not need to prepare me,” Raizel said. His body could be convenient like that.

Something a little devious crossed Frankenstein’s face. “Oh my, but forgive me, because I seem to have forgotten. What instrument should I use and where should I put it for this procedure?”

Raizel paused for a moment. He gave Frankenstein a wryly answering look. He tilted his head. “Your large cock, ‘Doctor,’ goes into my tight ass.” Perhaps in another time, Raizel would have been far too embarrassed to utter such forward and descriptive words, but he had spent enough time with Frankenstein to polish his own vocabulary to the man’s tastes, and if Raizel were honest with himself, he did not entirely mind the words either.

“Well then…” There was the sound of a belt buckle and zipper. Frankenstein raised Raizel’s legs over his arms and grasped as his hips and ass. He shoved Raizel towards himself.

Raizel took in a breath as he felt Frankenstein stretch and enter him. Swiftly, he pressed into him to the hilt, filling him lovingly. Raizel wrapped his legs tighter, spurring him to move, to drive deeper and harder and faster, but Frankenstein slid out of him achingly slowly, making sure Raizel felt every centimeter of him dragging against his walls and taking pleasure from him.

Frankenstein sighed appreciatively and rested his head against Raizel’s shoulder.

Raizel, not giving him slack, lifted his hand to draw Frankenstein’s face to his own. “_ Thoroughly, _ ‘Doctor.’” He pressed his lips against Frankenstein’s mouth, and Frankenstein opened for him just as easily as Raizel opened for _ him _.

They kissed wetly, Frankenstein’s tongue diving as deeply as his cock. As impatient as Raizel, Frankenstein’s hips quickened, slapping against him as he bent Raizel backwards such that ‘his patient’ had to extend an arm back to lean against the table. The table creaked and shook. “Hah...this is very much against lab protocol, Master,” Frankenstein absentmindedly and belatedly observed as he parted from the kiss just enough to breathe again.

Not wanting him to think about lab and work and business again, Raizel hurried him by pressing forward and stealing his mouth and tongue again. His moans were muffled, but they could still very well hear the sopping sounds of fucking and getting fucked. Raizel’s free hand tangled in Frankenstein’s hair, and he tugged at it, earning an appreciative grunt from Frankenstein, who dug his nails into the soft flesh of Raizel’s ass. Raizel tightened mercilessly around him; his body was convenient like that.

“A—ah…” Frankenstein lowered his head. He gripped Raizel tighter and drilled into him harder. He huffed, His chest rose and fell.

He was feeling good, and this, of course, made Raizel feel good. His hips lifted further off the table, wanting to meet Frankenstein faster, and his free hand reached down to grasp and stroke himself, now generously wet. It was slick and hot against his firm fingers.

Raizel watched a pleasured expression sink into Frankenstein’s face: his brows drawn up, his eyes closed, his mouth hung quietly open. He thrusted erratically into Raizel, making him jolt and shiver and his toes curl in his socks.

Then, he rested his head again on Raizel’s shoulder and a low, long groan shakily left him. Frankenstein jerked forward a couple times into Raizel as he came, sleepily and dreamily. Raizel felt and appreciated his hot spill but then noticed that Frankenstein had gone still and silent. Carefully, he sat up straighter.

Frankenstein’s full weight was against Raizel, and his breathing was soft and shallow. He had fallen asleep and had yet to even pull out.

His cock was still in his hand. Raizel hadn’t cum. He smiled endearingly and sighed. It was rare for Frankenstein to only go one round, so Raizel was correct in thinking that he had already been exhausted, but he only hoped that Frankenstein would not be too embarrassed once he woke up.

* * *

Frankenstein opened his eyes suddenly to find himself in his own room. He bolted upright. “Master! You didn’t—“ He looked at Raizel, seated at a small table with tea, staring back at him with slightly widened eyes and raised teacup frozen. “You didn’t...cum…” His face reddened with embarrassment, and he lowered his head so that he rested his eyes against the back of his interlaced fingers. “I apologize...for the lackluster performance on my part, Master,” he said, dejected. “...I should just die…”

Raizel smiled gently and exasperated. He found Frankenstein unbelievable at times. “I only wanted you to rest, and you have done that, Frankenstein. There is nothing to apologize for.”

He looked up from his hands. “But will you let me try again, Master?” Frankenstein looked suddenly hopeful.

Raizel sipped his tea. “Of course, _ ‘Doctor,’ _” he said.


	5. Frankenstein and Rai are being naughty at school.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frankenstein and Rai in the school’s male bathroom requested by Myiuri.

Frankenstein was only taking his routine walk on the school grounds, checking things and appreciating the culmination of his efforts. Two boys scurrying out of the bathroom was usually a mundane and barely noticed event, but these two, as soon as they spotted their principal seemed to almost jump, eyes widened and nervous. They mumbled hushed things to each other and then rushed away. Frankenstein, recognizing the rambunctiousness of youth and what trouble it could cause, decided to check on the bathroom they emerged out of.

It was, as usual, clean, as Frankenstein took great pride in the beauty of his campus and paid his custodial staff generously, but there was unmistakably the lingering scent of recreational smoking in the air. In the corner, standing innocently and peering curiously at the unlit joint in between his fingers, was Raizel.

“Master?”

He looked up at Frankenstein.

“Where did you get that?”

“Classmates,” Raizel said. “They said that I can be rather stiff and that this would relax me.”

“Ah...” Frankenstein smiled apologetically. “Smoking is prohibited on school grounds, Master.”

His lips flattened, and Raizel suddenly looked very concerned. “I do not wish to break the rules, but it would be rude of me to simply toss a generous gift,” he said, seemingly caught in a conundrum.

Really, what was Frankenstein supposed to do? Master’s genuineness was his undoing, and there wouldn’t be any harm in doing this just once, just to let his master experience new things and know what it was like to be a normal and somewhat mischievous student. Frankenstein had done far harder substances himself and was no stranger to recreational drugs anyway. He would have to speak to those two boys later though (recreational cannabis was still very much illegal in this country), but for now, he offered, “Would you like me to show you how to use that, Master?”

Raizel’s eyes brightened slightly and he nodded, handing the joint over.

Frankenstein took it from him and looked around. “Perhaps we should take a stall, in case anyone walks in.” They were private and roomy enough, the shiny wooden doors extending all the way to the ground and all the way up. Frankenstein picked the one on the far side, and Raizel followed him in. They were in close quarters, shutting and locking the door.

He didn’t like the scent of smoking, but for his master’s entertainment, Frankenstein pulled out a lighter, lit one end, and put the other in between his lips. He took a drag and exhaled, eyeing the smoke as it billowed. Such a mild drug wouldn’t affect him, and he doubted it would affect his master either as he flipped the cigarette around and held it to him. “Would you like a try, Master?”

Raizel nodded, and then, instead of taking the cigarette out of Frankenstein’s hand, he simply leaned forward and put his lips around it.

Frankenstein watched. Master looked, at that moment, very appealing.

He blew soft smoke against Frankenstein’s knuckles. It curled around his fingers and rose into the air. Raizel looked up at him, likely noticing his appreciative stare. “Do you like what you see, Frankenstein?” he asked, voice low and suggestive.

Frankenstein blushed a little. “Ah, well...yes, of course, Master, when it’s you.”

Raizel took another puff, embellishing the smoke itself with his grace and beauty. It looked, for a moment, ethereal.

Frankenstein’s back was pressed to the wall, and Master was suddenly very close. “Um…” It was not lost on Frankenstein the scandal of their situation, but he was quickly silenced by Master’s sweet-soft lips covering his own. He kissed back, because he always kissed back.

The cigarette was quickly forgotten as it was lowered and tossed into the sparkling, spotless toilet.

They shuffled against the tight space of the stall, and Master’s lips quickly worked their way from his mouth to his neck as his hands loosened his ribbon and collar. Frankenstein tilted his head back, resting it against the wall as he let out a grateful sigh. It took little effort for Frankenstein to harden as Raizel massaged at that location and grasped him firmly through the fabric of his pants.

“Hah...Master...This is...prohibited on school grounds,” Frankenstein said, not entirely convincingly.

Raizel looked at him in the eyes. “Then we must be discreet about this,” he whispered. “Lest the principal himself find out,” he teased.

Frankenstein smiled, defeated by his master. He tilted his head and shivered as Master’s fangs sunk into his neck, quietly spilling his blood, and he felt warm all over.

In the narrow space, Raizel lowered himself carefully and undid Frankenstein’s buckle and pulled down his zipper.

Frankenstein swallowed. “We should...be quick about this, Master.”

Raizel nodded. He tugged at Frankenstein’s pants and underwear, drawing out his cock. “Rest your leg on my shoulder,” he ordered, and Frankenstein obeyed, stepping his right leg out of his black pants and placing it where directed. Raizel pressed forward to take that heavy length into his mouth and swallowed around it. He caressed it in pleasing ways with his tongue and slid against Frankenstein’s heated and wet skin.

Frankenstein sighed and softly moaned, pressing his hips forward. He was well aware of how indecent he was being given his role but could not help but also think that this was a much needed break from his work.

Master’s hand was on him now, stroking him as that delightful mouth stayed pleasuring the head of his cock. Then, the hand reached beneath him and into him. Raizel parted for a moment only to say, “You are still well stretched from last night.”

Frankenstein, blushing, nodded.

As Raizel nuzzled and licked at him and stroked him on the inside, his other hand reached down to undo his own pristine white pants. He stood up, Frankenstein being flexible enough to keep his leg on his master’s shoulder.

Bracing his hand on the wall and standing with his legs spread so far apart, Frankenstein was utterly exposed to his master, who made short work of thrusting into him quickly and deeply, ridding Frankenstein of breath in one go. “Master…” he moaned, fingers scrambling against the smooth, lacquered wood.

Master wrapped his arms around his extended leg and drove into him.

Frankenstein bit off a squeal as he tossed his head back and closed his eyes. He rocked into the motion, loving all the heat and friction and indecent goodness. “Y-yes...Master. Yes, Master,” he rasped, breath hitching. His spine electrified, Frankenstein pressed back, beckoning Master’s cock in deeper as his own twitched and dripped onto the floor.

They rocked with each other, chasing a swift pleasure. Frankenstein kept his moaning quiet, but the wetness between them was vocal. He keened and opened his mouth in a difficult silence when Master stroked him with his hand.

He could swear they were shaking the stall.

There was a sudden distant click and a door opening and shutting.

Frankenstein’s breath was trapped in his throat, and they both held very, very still.

“Didn’t Rai say that he was going to the bathroom?” That was Shinwoo’s voice.

“Maybe it’s a different one.” Ikhan’s voice.

“Maybe he got lost.” Shinwoo laughed. “Hey Rai!” he yelled.

They almost jumped.

“You in here?”

After a tense silence, Ikhan said, “Hey, just call his phone.”

In a short moment, Raizel’s phone was ringing audibly in his pocket in the last stall.

_ Fuck, what the fuck? _ Frankenstein thought.

They could hear the boys’ approaching footsteps. “Rai? Is that you in there?” Shinwoo interrogated.

Raizel, still buried in Frankenstein’s ass, looked, in that moment, like he was spiraling in an existential crisis.

His phone was still ringing. He declined the call.

“Maybe that’s not him?” Shinwoo asked.

“Or maybe people don’t want to talk to you when they’re taking a shit,” Ikhan reprimanded.

“Right...I guess he would be the type to get embarrassed about that. I mean, he doesn’t even look like he knows what taking a dump is, like he’s some sorta alien.”

“What are you talking about? We’ve gone over this. He is, for sure, a vampire.”

Exchanging words, the two boys laughed their way out of the bathroom.

The two frozen in the stall sighed with relief, and they too laughed, leaning into each other. They suddenly felt like two very young and naive people without a care in the world other than their sweethearts.

They kissed each other, getting into it again, Raizel dragging deeply and smoothly in Frankenstein, and Frankenstein could feel the wetness run down his thigh. He sighed and shuddered, feeling very, very, “Good...Master, good.” His eyes slipped closed. He pressed against the wall.

Raizel thrusted and stroked him overwhelmingly until he made Frankenstein cum, cock twitching in his hand and spilling over the wall, the floor, and some on himself. He shook gently and cried softly. His fingers curled against the smooth stall.

Raizel himself came shortly after, holding Frankenstein close and capturing his mouth with his own, sighing in his come down. As he pulled out, Frankenstein was left a mess over his skin and clothes, cum leaking out of him as he lowered his leg. Raizel cleaned them with his powers and his thought. They stood leaning against each other quietly in content silence for a moment.

“You shouldn’t be late for class, Master,” Frankenstein murmured, gathering himself together again and smoothing out the wrinkles of his clothing.

Master nodded amicably at him, and they exited the bathroom after setting everything in place.

* * *

“Chairman Lee, the custodial staff have reported finding a cigarette in one of the bathrooms,” one of the teachers said.

Frankenstein’s benign smile stiffened. “Ah...so they have…” He folded his hands on his desk. “I will be sure to find out whom it belongs to and reprimand them appropriately. Thank you for telling me.”

She scrutinized him coldly, like a grim detective from a gritty film noir. “I hope you do,” she said, and turned around. Her heels clacked as she left his office.

Frankenstein was left again alone with his mountain of paperwork. “Haha…” He should be more careful cleaning up in the future.


	6. That’s...not where that goes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex in the living room with foreign objects, breath control, and blindfolds requested by VenKrista.

The front door was slammed open. “It’s unbelievable!” Frankenstein’s voice cut sharply through the silence that greeted him. Although he was dressed his best—suit clean and pressed and even wearing a shiny dark blue silken tie instead of his usual ribbon—his face was creased with agitation in ugly ways. “Do they think I run some daycare? If you’re not going to look after your kids properly, don’t fucking have them!”

“Frankenstein…”

Frankenstein jumped in his shoes. “Oh, Master...hello…”

Raizel gave him a look before returning serenely to his tea—tea that Ragar had prepared. “Your irritation suggests that your meeting with Lukedonia has been rather tiring.”

Frankenstein took a breath, as if winding himself up as he replaced his shoes for slippers. He exhaled only as fervent criticism: “It’s absurd, absolutely absurd. They think I have all the time and space in the world. You can’t just go entering eternal sleep and say, ‘hey, that human will look after my kids. He’s already got a school with hundreds of children, what’s a few more? I’ll just go ahead and _ die _; my kids will be fine.’” He stepped into the living room, loosening his tie and brushing his hair back with a hand. “Lukedonia has no parenting sense whatsoever.” He sighed. “Apologies for my unpleasantness, Master.”

Raizel only smiled into his tea. He patted the seat next to him, and Frankenstein quietly and obediently sat down, deflating as his master seemed to calm him.

The coffee table had been set with tea, sugar, a plate of cookies, and a small woven basket of highly arranged fruit in the center. Raizel placed his own cup down to pour tea for Frankenstein in a thoughtfully prepared second cup. He pushed it over on the table towards him.

“Oh, Master, thank you.” Frankenstein nodded and took the cup in his hands. He smiled a little at the pleasant aroma and the warmth in his hands.

“Ragar rivals you in attentiveness, Frankenstein, as he was the one who prepared all of this before heading out.” There was a playful lilt in Raizel’s voice.

“Master!” Frankenstein looked and blinked at him with equally playful and exaggerated shock. “I’m wounded,” he murmured. He sipped his tea. “I can’t be outdone by _ Ragar _ of all people.”

“You are both impressive,” Raizel said. Then he leaned in closer and spoke quietly. “But he does not rival your...enthusiasms for me, Frankenstein.” Suddenly, there were lips pressed to Frankenstein’s neck and fingers pulling apart his tie.

Frankenstein sighed long and low and leaned into that touch appreciatively, tilting his head demurely. “Right here, Master?” he whispered.

“Right here,” Raizel whispered back. “The others are asleep at this time.”

Frankenstein smiled sweetly and set his cup down with a soft clink before turning to wrap his arms around his master’s shoulders, pressing their eager mouths together.

“You have been gone for the past two days, Frankenstein.” Words were hushed in the small space between them.

“My apologies, Master.”

Raizel breathed him in and out. They swallowed each other, but when they parted, he said, “I am afraid apologies will not be enough for your behavior, Frankenstein.”

The fingers tangled in his deep smooth tie finally pulled it all the way loose. Frankenstein found the soft fabric being pressed to his eyes, blinding him in comfortable and familiar darkness. Raizel tied a snug knot at the back of his head and kissed him again.

“Master…”

“You must be quiet, Frankenstein—not a single word.” Raizel’s command was soft, but it was a command nonetheless. “We do not want our privacy interrupted.”

Frankenstein nodded, swallowing and feeling the warm blossom of anticipation.

It was not long before Raizel’s hands parted his jacket, his shirt, his pants, and his legs. His clothes rustled against his skin and hung off of his frame haphazardly. He savored Master’s every touch. Blindfolded, he could only feel and explore with his own hands aimlessly, dishevelling Raizel as well—a shame he could not see it. Frankenstein exhaled in indulgence when Master reached down to massage his growing erection with his well experienced hand, and Frankenstein pressed his hips up into it. Habit spurred him to say ‘Thank you, Master,’ the courteous man he was, but he remained quiet, only giving thanks in the form of the honest motion of pressing his body closer.

Then there were fangs on his neck and then beneath his skin, long and sharp and pulling blood from his veins with sparks of loving pain. It electrified his nerves, and Frankenstein shuddered, hips twitching up into Master’s insistent and yet restrained hand, separated from him by the fabric of his pants. He wrapped his arms around him tighter in place of pleading with his words to be touched. His lips were parted but only in silence.

Slowly and finally, Frankenstein felt his master’s careful fingers trace down his abdomen until they hooked onto and pulled down his pants, scraping his inner thigh along the way. He swallowed down a soft approving moan when he felt Master’s fingers press against his lips. Knowing the routine well, Frankenstein sucked on them like cock, his saliva wetting and slicking them with enthusiasm, pressing forward to take them deeper.

Then those fingers found their way into him, and he squeezed around them wanting and always wanting more. Frankenstein wanted to moan sweetly for Raizel and call to him, as he was wont to do but refrained, expressing his appreciation by bucking into Master’s hand until it harrowingly withdrew.

What would usually happen next was Frankenstein getting stretched and filled with his master’s hot cock, and Frankenstein reasonably expected this as he spread his legs further in unseeing anticipation. He heard the tear of a plastic wrapper. A condom was also reasonable in their current setting, he thought.

Frankenstein gasped as he was entered. What was shoved inside of him was clearly not a cock.

A whine left him, questioning and yet still welcoming whatever was hard, cold, and curved inside of him. It was abruptly shoved in deeper, and Frankenstein bit back a yelp as he clenched around the foreign object, fingers scrambling on Master’s shoulders. It scraped against his insides, and his throat tensed with a restrained moan.

Frankenstein’s quietness was only broken and a shuddering cry escaped him when he felt _ another _ one being driven into him, squeezed tightly alongside the first one, making him feel like he could tear.

Master took a moment to gently shush him, leaning down to work at his throat again.

Frankenstein had a sneaking suspicion about what Raizel had indecently stuffed him with, but his thoughts were quickly scattered when those two objects were gripped and moved together inside of him.

His suspicions were confirmed when Raizel said, “I have arrived at a use for these inventive fruits, Frankenstein.”

Frankenstein’s belly clenched and his mouth opened, caught in close heat and pleasure, and embarrassment that made his face hot. His eyes were shut tightly behind the makeshift blindfold, and his chest rose and rose and fell, filled with withheld moaning. Sparks seared his mind and he bit down when Master moved those things brutally within him, somehow shoving them even deeper when he slammed back in. He could feel his cock twitch with each thrust that parted him so far. Briefly, he wondered who it was who had gone grocery shopping for the week and picked up such large produce, but that was swiftly forgotten as Master continued to fuck him, making him burst in cry and whimper.

His disobedient vocalizations were mercilessly cut off by a firm hand on his throat, steadily crushing the breath out of him. God, did he need this, he thought. His head leaned back and his mouth open in constant and silent cry, Frankenstein felt his lungs burn for thinning air. He was dizzy with it. His lack of sight only made everything feel all that much more intimate as he squirmed and bucked in Master’s hold. He could feel his cock throb and the now almost continuous drool of precum on his thighs and stomach. Frankenstein took a tight, futile breath, lungs flaring in protest to Master’s treatment. Fire inside and out, he felt like a leaping blaze. Frankenstein jolted and frantically gripped at Raizel. He needed to breathe, needed to moan, needed to cry and shake and hold his master close. His ass burned with the deep stretch and friction and hardness. He wanted to beg for mercy. His lips were wet with shameless drool.

When Master finally released his throat, he trembled as he coughed and swallowed air and pressed himself up to pull Raizel closer to him only to better hold him to steady himself at least a little even as the sliding penetration in his ass brought him closer and closer to a high he so deeply craved and yet wondered if he would be able to stand.

Master dug his nails into his thigh and pierced his shoulder with his fangs.

Frankenstein, sensitive to the pinpricks of pain wondered if he could die like this. He gasped, and the breaths that left him were barely held back moans. He would not disobey by whimpering again, but even so, he was once again pressed for air as Master gripped his throat. So good and too much, he wanted desperately to cry out, body shaking with effort.

Raizel’s voice was smooth, deep, and soothing in contrast, but his words were inflaming: “It seems as though you can get off on anything that will fit inside of you, Frankenstein. You’ll cum on anything.”

Frankenstein could _ hear _ the smile in his voice.

Raizel’s breath brushed against his ear. “You love having your ass broken. Are you ashamed, Frankenstein?”

God, Frankenstein was losing his mind.

“There is no need to be ashamed. You may cum as much as you’d like.”

Raizel was thrusting inside of him even harder, to the point of disbelief, and Frankenstein’s body was alight with merciless pain-pleasure. His nails dug into the fabric of his master’s shirt, and he trembled uncontrollably as he clenched down and came over himself. Even so, Raizel continued to slide against his insides and deprive of air until Frankenstein completely spilled and spent himself. When he was finally granted breath, he was dizzy and weak with his release, body still involuntarily jerking as he could only bury his face against Raizel’s neck and shoulder, hanging on for dear life as he felt his master withdraw the two now warm and rather softened produce from his loosened ass. He clenched around the new emptiness and let out a breathy moan against Master’s neck.

Raizel ran a soothing hand down Frankenstein’s shuddering back and undid the blindfold. The slightly damp tie fell unceremoniously from Frankenstein’s face.

When Frankenstein found it in himself to blink away the dampness in his eyes and the blur in his vision and loosen his hold on his master, he peered over at the coffee table to find the two bananas that were just inside of him lying next to each other. The condoms were still slipped snuggly over them, and Frankenstein blushed at the indecorous sight for a moment before snuffing out a rising snicker.

“Are you amused, Frankenstein?” Raizel asked quietly.

Frankenstein nuzzled at Raizel’s neck. “Well...yes…” he admitted.

Raizel smiled gently at him as he blushed at himself. “I am glad you are amused,” he said. “It is preferable to your agitation.”

Frankenstein smiled in return. “We have our own toys for a reason, Master.”

“Then perhaps we should use them.”

“Perhaps we should..”

* * *

_ The next morning. _

“Oh sweet, bananas,” M-21 said as he passed by the table. And then he ate them.

* * *

AN: I’m so sorry. You can just disregard the last section.


	7. Someone sees something they shouldn't.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raizel/Frankenstein/Ragar and someone seeing them requested by Abbey.

“Your hips are shaking.”

“Indeed, I wonder why that could possibly be.”

Frankenstein gave Ragar a wry, funny look and for his impudence, turned up the sybian drilling his ass.

And Ragar, arms tightly bound behind his back with a black leather belt and straddling the machine, curled forward and quietly groaned deep in his throat, eyes slipping closed. His cock twitched as well at the hum of the vibrator strapped to it.

“Honestly, Ragar, do you even enjoy sex, or is this something you do just because it happens to entertain me?” Frankenstein, lounging royally in his polished and also black leather chair, leaned his head against his knuckles, fingers curled around the remote control.

Ragar opened his eyes slowly and thoughtfully. “I enjoy that it entertains you,” he said then closed his eyes again. “I also enjoy it in itself, but your entertainment gives me all the more reason.”

There was a quiet, polite knocking on the door. Frankenstein raised his head. “It’s Master,” he announced and stood up to go welcome the said man into the room.

They nodded respectfully at each other, and Raizel stepped inside, Frankenstein shutting the door again after him.

“Ragar...you are the one being taken care of tonight?” Raizel observed.

“It appears so, Sir.” Ragar bowed his head and sighed. His thighs tensed and his hips twitched, belly tightening. Quietly, he came, wetting the vibrator on his cock and the seat of the sybian beneath him. Despite his legendary composure, Ragar still blushed healthily as he shuddered forward and huffed through his nose.

“How many times has that been?” Frankenstein asked, but he was sure to already know the answer.

“Four…” Ragar responded obediently.

A satisfied hum left Frankenstein before he returned his attention to his master, still fully aware of the toys continuing to work Ragar relentlessly, though the remote had been tossed on the bed. “Would you care to join us, Master?”

Raizel’s eyes drifted tenderly over to Ragar, who was busy enjoying himself, and then back again to Frankenstein. “If I had not cared to join, I would not be here.”

Frankenstein smiled, devilish. “Then...Ragar’s mouth is rather idle at the moment, Master. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Raizel, understanding the suggestion, walked with silent grace over to Ragar and gently drew his gaze upward with a light, almost ephemeral touch. They looked at each other, and an unspoken question was asked and answered as Ragar leaned forward to nuzzle at Raizel’s thigh and crotch, feeling his shape with a warm, open mouth behind fabric. Then, Raizel slipped a thumb under Ragar’s mask and pulled it down, revealing the lips and mouth pressed to him.

A belt, button, and zipper undone—Ragar was quick to service him. He took his liege into his mouth and down his throat to work him to full hardness. When he kissed and licked and sucked, he did so with all due respect that was only appropriate for Raizel’s grace and authority. Ragar swallowed around him and pressed forward and again. His own cock hardened pleasantly, lest he unintentionally insult Raizel by remaining soft as he sucked him off. It was only appropriate. He glanced over at the sound of a whistle coming from Frankenstein’s direction.

Frankenstein had his phone in his hand, pointing it in landscape at them. His eyes darted from the screen to Ragar. “You don’t look bad on camera either.”

Ragar parted from Raizel only enough to say, “Send that to me afterwards,” and then resumed with as much grace as such the situation could allow.

“Hm.” Frankenstein approached, phone camera still poised, and with his free hand, he undid his pants and drew out his own length, firm and warm and resting in his slowly massaging fingers. Indecently, he rubbed it against Ragar’s cheek. “Room for one more?”

Ragar’s lips popped off of Raizel’s cock with an obscene sound, and he turned to tend to Frankenstein, mouth and tongue covering him wetly.

When drool and precum pearled and lazily slipped from Ragar’s lips, Frankenstein pulled back and stroked himself firmly. “Focus on Master,” he ordered with a pleased sigh.

Ragar obeyed, once again pressing Raizel past his lips. He shifted and tensed a little as the incessant vibrations stirred him and made him shiver, again pleasuring his honest body and bringing him closer to yet another high. Ragar sucked and swallowed audibly around the heated cock stretching his lips with greater quickness and indecency, practically fucking his own throat.

Frankenstein chuckled softly. “Look at you go,” he cooed, sounding very amused and approving as he thrusted his cock into his hand, kissing Ragar’s flushed face with the tip of it.

It was shortly after that Raizel placed a gentle hand on Ragar’s head and pressed him to his hips. Ragar’s eyes widened only slightly as his throat worked to swallow all of Raizel’s generously given cum. Raizel’s breath was almost silent, and his blush was subdued.

Ragar, closing his eyes to savor the sensations coiling through his body, pressed forward even more so, taking more of his liege into him as his hips moved to ride the sybian until he came again, shuddering with his mouth still opened wide and pressed to Raizel. Cum was seeping from his lips as well as his cock.

“And how many was that?” Frankenstein asked as if he was not in the middle of stroking himself onto Ragar’s face and recording the entire thing.

Ragar withdrew from Raizel with a quiet, heated breath, attempting to steady himself enough to answer as he cleared his throat. “Five,” he murmured.

Frankenstein smiled. “Then we’re halfway there.” His eyes focused on the phone again as he brought the camera closer to Ragar. “Open,” he told him, rubbing the tip of his cock against the side of his glistening mouth, and Ragar parted his lips shamelessly for him. This, however, seemed only a formality, as Frankenstein came only sparingly in his mouth, choosing instead to spurt over most of his face, Ragar’s eyes squinting at it. Cum—a mix of Raizel’s and Frankenstein’s—dripped across the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, his lips, his chin.

“Won’t you tell the camera how much a dignified noble such as yourself likes washing his mouth and face with cum?” Frankenstein said.

“Frankenstein, that is embarrassing,” Ragar stated flatly.

“But it’s _ true. _ ”

Ragar glanced down, the gears of his mind turning. Then he sighed, looked up seriously at the camera, and said, “I, Ragar Kertia, love being a cum covered slut who services Sir Raizel’s and Frankenstein’s cocks with my mouth, face, and tight ass.”

“Ragar…” Frankenstein blinked, both impressed and taken aback. He was blushing. “That’s embarrassing.”

“But it’s true,” Ragar said.

* * *

It was only happenstance that Takeo found himself in the kitchen looking for a snack to bring back to his room when he heard the buzz of a phone on the counter. Looking around, he saw no one and so thought to be kind and bring the phone to whomever it belonged. There were new messages from Frankenstein—likely of great importance.

The phone had no passcode. Takeo unlocked it.

Images and videos. Ragar on his knees, cum pooled on his face and in his mouth. Ragar on his back, legs spread apart and ass stuffed with toys. Ragar cumming on someone’s cock, eyes squeezed shut. Ragar cumming on  _ two _ cocks miraculously squeezed into him.

Takeo slowly lowered the phone and immediately went to go return it.

Ragar’s room was empty, and he honestly should have expected as much. He beelined for Frankenstein’s room instead, feeling nervous at what would greet him. He hoped he wasn’t blushing too hard. He knocked on the door three times.

A click. The door opened. Ragar greeted him, face still clearly rosy like he had just finished and hair and mask down. Takeo somehow blushed harder at the sight. “Ah, um, you...left your phone in the kitchen.” He held it out to him.

“Thank you, Takeo.” Ragar nodded as he received the phone from him.

Takeo couldn’t quite meet his eyes. He cleared his throat to the side. “Perhaps you should consider putting a passcode on it, Sir…” he said then quickly and politely scurried away, wanting to leave their remaining privacy intact.

When Ragar shut the door again and turned around, Frankenstein had emerged naked and fresh from the bathroom and was drying his hair with a towel. Ragar pointed his phone at him. “You do not look bad on camera either,” he said and snapped a couple photos.

Frankenstein looked at him. “I swear, if you leak my nudes, I’ll destroy you.”

“I would not dream of it.”

“Ragar.” Raizel was sitting on the edge of the bed with his bare legs crossed. “Send that to me,” he said

“Of course, Sir.”

Raizel’s phone pinged on the bedside table.


	8. Raizel and Frankenstein can’t fucking keep it in their pants what the fuck.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raizel/Frankenstein at school and almost getting caught by someone requested by Guest.

“Rai, watch out!”

Raizel, sitting on the steps, had only vaguely turned in the direction of Shinwoo’s voice before a hurling ball meteoring through the air crashed squarely into his face.

Someone in the distance gasped.

The guilty ball bounced off of his face and then a few more times on the ground as it rolled away.

“Oh my god!” someone exclaimed.

Shinwoo ran up to him. “Rai! Are you okay—Oh heck.”

Raizel blinked as he felt a wetness running from his nose and over his lips. He brought a hand up to calmly wipe at the blood but only ended up smearing it across his face as it continued to drip slowly. He looked entirely confused, as if something like a hard ball crushing his face should not have caused him to bleed.

“Shit...did you break his nose?” Ikhan, a little out of breath, had caught up with Shinwoo. He punched his friend in the arm with a dull thud. “Why’re you so violent, huh?”

“Hey, ow!” Shinwoo rubbed at his arm but then quickly turned back to Raizel with the genuine concern of a friend. “I’ll take you to the nurse’s office, Rai.”

“Yeah, you should get it looked at as soon as possible. A kick from Shinwoo could break anyone’s face.”

* * *

“I’m sorry? He’s  _ bleeding? _ I’ll be there right away.” Frankenstein slammed the desk phone down, and a few papers drifted and fell to the floor as he swiftly stood up and shrugged on his jacket. He ran across campus and was at the nurse’s office in record time.

“Chairman!” The nurse seemed startled to see him arrive so fast. “Raizel is over there.” He gestured to one of the rest areas with the curtains drawn. “Nothing seems broken, thankfully, but I’m having him rest and nurse his wound at the moment.”

Frankenstein nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Guo.” He approached the designated and curtain and pulled it back to peek inside. “Ah...Raizel…?” Even given the situation, it still felt strange to call him by only that name.

Raizel was sitting on the bed, leaning slightly forward and pinching the soft part of his nose with a white handkerchief stained red. “Fra—Mr. Lee,” he greeted, glancing up.

“How are you feeling? Does it hurt?” Frankenstein asked and with perhaps a friendliness that surpassed what was entirely appropriate for a school principal, sat down closely next to him and looked even closer, concern knitting his brows. It was not the impact of a stray ball that concerned him, but that his master even bled at all. Something so mundane should not have caused him to spill blood.

“I am well.” Raizel’s eyes softened at him in that way that tried with great earnest to comfort Frankenstein. “It does not hurt.”

Frankenstein was not entirely comforted. His lips thinned into a line.

“Chairman!” The nurse called. “Will you be staying here with Raizel?”

“Ah, yes. I will,” Frankenstein called back.

“Can I ask you to watch over him as I take my lunch break then?”

“Yes, of course, of course, Mr. Guo.”

“Thank you, Chairman.”

When Frankenstein heard the door to the office shut quietly, he leaned forward and tentatively raised a hand to the handkerchief. “Master, may I see?”

Raizel lowered his hand. The blood had mostly drained, but it was still smeared above and on his lips and threatened to sluggishly to flow again.

“This...shouldn’t be happening, Master. You should have healed from this immediately.”

“Frankenstein, your concern is understandable, but rest assured, I am fine. Taking a little time to heal is not entirely alarming.”

“Master, you say that but…”

“Would you like to be reassured Frankenstein?” Raizel leaned in and murmured, “Take my blood and know that I am telling you the truth.”

Frankenstein glanced down, thinking; then, he tilted his head and pressed forward. Intimately, his tongue ran against Raizel’s upper lip, swiping over fresh blood. Bond blossomed—opened, Frankenstein was welcomed inside Master’s qualia, feeling what he felt as if they shared the same body, which was not a far stretch as they shared the same soul at this point. It was warm, intimate belonging as if the universe had, in an instant, become made for just the two of them, as blatantly untrue as that was.

“Am I well, Frankenstein?” Raizel asked.

Frankenstein nodded quietly, eyes faraway like he was half asleep and dreaming of the nicest of things in the glow of their contract.

“Are you feeling good, Frankenstein?” Raizel asked softly and only a touch suggestive.

“With you, Master? Always.” He smiled.

“I think,” Raizel began. “I would like to further assure you, Frankenstein, of my health.” He closed the distance between them and pressed their lips together.

Frankenstein, without a moment’s hesitation, pressed back into him, opening his mouth in warm welcome as his hand reached up to massage at the back of Raizel’s neck.

By the time they parted again, all the blood had been licked clean.

Raizel pressed Frankenstein down into the bed.

“Master…” Frankenstein wrapped his arms around his shoulders. “This is wildly inappropriate…”

“Should I stop, Frankenstein?”

He blushed. “...No.”

Raizel smiled in return. “As always, you are rebellious, Frankenstein, even towards yourself.” He leaned down, and again, they were kissing, fervently, lovingly,  _ scandalously _ , in the nurse’s office of Ye Ran High.

* * *

“Oh—oh, Master!” Frankenstein called airily and crushed Raizel to him, clinging on tightly with arms wrapped around him as his hips rocked and bucked into his master’s. He was being fucked—stretched and squeezed and railed. He loved it when Master’s cock drove into him, parting him and stroking against his walls and the places that twitched and sparked with feeling so very good. Frankenstein moaned, pressing his lips together in a strained muffle. He was still aware of their setting, and it would be a disaster if he were too loud and a passer by happened to overhear.

Raizel breathed against his neck, and nipped and kissed at it, pinching sweat slick and warmed skin between his teeth, both careful and sharp and brutal. “Frankenstein…” he sighed and tugged at his hair, pulling his head back, and Frankenstein shuddered at this.

“Hahh, yes, Master, yes…” He wrapped his legs around tighter, locking his ankles over each other and gripped at Raizel’s shoulders. “So good…” The bed was creaking. Frankenstein was shaking. “Oh god—Cum—I’m cu—“

“Chairman!”

_ Fuck _ .

Frankenstein flinched as Raizel hurriedly and suddenly pulled out of him. They were scrambling to put themselves together—underwear, pants, shirts, jackets. Frankenstein brushed his hair back with a hand and straightened out the wrinkles of his suit. He huffed, trying to calm himself and the blush on his face as Raizel also righted himself and slipped under the sheets, lying down as if he had only been napping innocently and appropriately.

The curtain was pulled back. “Chairman, thank you for keeping an eye on things,” the nurse said brightly.

“Ah, yes, it is no problem,” Frankenstein recited a little robotically.

His eyes glanced over Raizel. “He looks better already.” He looked back at Frankenstein. “Hm?”

Frankenstein stiffened.

“Chairman, your jacket.”

“My jacket? What’s wrong with my jacket?” Frankenstein squirrelly patted himself down, feeling nothing out of place except for the dread that he could have missed something.

“It’s inside out.”

“Oh! Haha, excuse me.” He shrugged his jacket off and then put it back on correctly with all of his mustered nonchalance and ease. Frankenstein was the perfect chairman and principal; that was his maintained reputation. As far as other people knew, he was as straight as an arrow and as vanilla as...vanilla. “I must have been in a rush this morning,” he justified with a smile then cleared his throat softly. “Well, I should get going, Mr. Guo.”

“I’m sure you’re very busy.”

Frankenstein looked back at Raizel sitting up on the bed as if he were just waking up and had not been fucking him for the past twenty minutes. “Raizel...you should go to your next class,” he said properly.

“Of course,  _ Mr. Lee _ .” Raizel’s eyes met him and glinted with amusement.

Unbeknownst to all three of them, Tao had the previous night been up playing video games—notably League and EVE Online—and then the following afternoon decided to take a much needed nap in one of the beds in the nurse’s office. Separated only by a flimsy curtain, he had heard the entire interaction between Boss and Boss’s Boss.

_ Bruh, what the fuck? _ he thought.


	9. Raizel and Frankenstein have some sad romance.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raizel/Frankenstein and their first night together after Rai returns from his 820 year nap requested by Guest.

So things were normal. One hundred percent fine. It was a day just like any other, and Frankenstein was only in his office doing normal things like signing forms and drinking coffee and adjusting his glasses. And then, Shinwoo showed up; a transfer student, he said. Transfer students were normal too.

There was Master, standing in uniform. As was appropriate and usual, Frankenstein kneeled and then served him tea, not missing a beat, like they were only continuing from where they had left off. It had only been eight hundred twenty years. Perhaps that was normal as well.

* * *

Frankenstein shut the door to his room and leaned against it, his back brushing against its hard, smooth surface. His heart was beating strangely, and he found his breath strained. He felt shaky and vaguely ill, but things were fine. He was fine. That was what he told himself. Like normal, like always, he would go out there, prepare tea and sweets in the kitchen and then serve those things to Raizel in their quiet evening. There was no reason for his nerves to act up. He shook himself awake and proceeded to do as he normally would do.

“Frankenstein…” Raizel called, clearly taking note of the slight tremor that ran through his hand as he was pouring him tea. His master looked up at him with clear, lucid, concerned eyes.

Hearing his name—his real name—being spoken with that soft, placid voice after so long was like a dream. Suddenly, he felt precious. He felt like Raizel was the only person in the whole wide world who knew him and knew his name in just the right way. “Master…” Frankenstein said in return, and that too felt like a dream.

Raizel gave him a long, thoughtful gaze. Frankenstein felt like he was being read. “Many things have changed in the world, Frankenstein. And you...have you changed, Frankenstein?”

“I...don’t know.” It had been so long, it was difficult to remember how he was centuries and centuries ago. As far as he knew, he could have been an entirely different person. The realization that Master could have seen one Frankenstein one day and then awoke only to greet a completely new one in a new world dwarfed him. The momentousness, the enormity of time made everyone very, very small. “But my devotion to you remains the same, Master,” he said. “For as long as I live and longer.”

“Eight hundred and twenty years is a long time for a human,” he said suddenly. Raizel gazed down at the cup in his hands, appearing small and naive. “I have left you alone for a long time, when our bond promises that we remain together.” He sipped his tea. “You have always given me everything; I do not question your devotion—not for a moment—but I fear that you suffer for it. You have never been shy of suffering, Frankenstein.”

Frankenstein’s expression twitched, his lips thinning. “If you are suggesting that I abandon you in return—as if that would make me any happier or freer—then I fear I will have to decline, Master.”

“I do not mean to offend you, Frankenstein,” Raizel said innocently, and of course he was innocent.

“So perhaps I have suffered for you, have been lonely for you, and have lived for centuries wondering where in the world you could possibly be, but _ for you _, if it is all for you, I am content, in the end.” Frankenstein softened and then audaciously kneeled at his feet and took Master’s hand into his own: warm, soft, familiar. “Master,” he began quietly, looking up at him. “Do you still want me? Do you still wish for your servant to remain by your side?”

“I do.”

“Then that is all that matters, Master.”

Something passed beneath Raizel’s eyes, something both wonderful and terrible. “That is not all that matters, Frankenstein. You _ know _ that is not all that matters.” He smiled slightly and softly. “But I will concede. Your own will allows us to be together again.” He looked distantly. “But regretfully, we cannot regain the time we have been apart; that time has passed.” The steam rose from his tea, billowed, and disappeared. “That you will have me again at all after all this time is astounding, Frankenstein.”

“Master…” Frankenstein held onto Raizel’s hand like it was his lifeline. He leaned forward and rested his head against his master’s thigh. “Master,” he murmured again. “Master, Master, Master...my, mine…” He smiled a little brokenly. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Master. I’ve been looking and hoping and aching for when we might reunite.” He laughed, breath-quiet. “And then I finally have you and see you again, and you suggest to me that my suffering is misplaced.” He raised his head and looked at Raizel with steadfast eyes and with the highest of confidence. “I will tell you, Master, that my suffering is not misplaced. I will tell you that when I see you, everything seems finally worth it, that there is no one else I would rather grieve and long for.” Frankenstein pressed his cheek against the fabric of Raizel’s pants. “It is like a dream to have you here. I can hardly stand it.” Then, he pressed up and forward so that their faces were close, and Frankenstein could hardly believe it. Desire and all the things he had been denied for lifetime upon lifetime surged forth, and he wanted to weep with it. “Master…” he whispered, and then shamelessly and honestly put his lips next to Raizel’s.

To Raizel, they had only kissed yesterday, but to Frankenstein, it had been eons and he kissed like a drink of water in the desert, gulping and gasping down, hungry and desperate. So very long, he could have cried at the faintest touch. Raizel had set down his tea; Frankenstein had straddled his lap. “Master…” he uttered. “Take me, have me, please. Here, now, forever.” He leaned down and nipped and sucked at his neck, hands pulling apart Raizel’s collar.

“Frankenstein…” Raizel sighed in between Frankenstein’s lips. “Truly you are..._ astounding _.” He kissed him back, lips on his jaw and neck and hands drifting down to cup his ass.

Frankenstein leaned further into him. “Yes...please, Master.” Hurriedly, he undid his belt and ground against him, swallowing and breathing deeply against the side of Raizel’s neck. Pressing and rubbing against his master, Frankenstein felt himself heat and and groan quietly with long cemented want. “Master,” he whined.

It was Raizel who reached in past Frankenstein’s waistband and slid his fingers against that growing hardness. When he grasped him, Frankenstein shivered and moaned. It felt so surreal to have his master, truly his master, touch him. Like a clearing fog, memories of nights and afternoons and mornings spent in bed together resurfaced. It felt like fantasy. Even if too much time had passed for his mind to clearly recall all the sensations Raizel could give him, his body remembered pleasure well, and he keened for it. “Master…” he murmured, not knowing what else to say as he wrapped his arms around his shoulders. He pressed his hips into that hand wrapped around his length and stroking him slowly and firmly and knowingly. God, Frankenstein was wet already, and that dampness soon spread to his pants.

His master’s hand was always soft, always pleasant, and knew just how to make him squirm and sigh. After so long, that hand was a novel experience, and Frankenstein found himself barely able to hold back, even if he twitched and ached to be entered and filled and stroked on the inside. But for now, he closed his eyes and moaned quietly, fingers wrinkling the back of Raizel’s shirt, and hips shuddering in his hand and grinding against Master’s own crotch as much as he could.

“Ah—ah…” Frankenstein squeezed his eyes shut, breath catching in his throat. It was almost embarrassing, how easily and quickly Master was able to push him to the edge; he was practically dripping in his hand, and it was only a hand, but it was _ Master’s _ hand that was working him, and that made everything so much sweeter and agonized. “Master...Master!” he gasped. He pressed them close together tightly and came, freezing and then trembling as he did so. “Mm…” Franekenstein pressed his lips to Raizel’s neck, blushing and breathing warmly. “Apologies Master…” he whispered. “That was...rather quick of me.” He settled down, sitting on Raizel’s lap. “It’s just...I…” He cleared his throat, burying his eyes into Master’s shirt. “I’ve missed you.” Perhaps his voice cracked a little, but neither of them mentioned it.

Raizel ran a hand down Frankenstein’s back, smoothing his jacket, and then lifted it again to brush the buoyant waves of his golden hair. He rolled them over, laying Frankenstein down across the couch as he settled between his legs, shirt marked wetly in places with Frankenstein’s release. “Tonight, Frankenstein, I will make it up to you,” Raizel said and leaned down to kiss him again as his hands roamed under Frankenstein’s shirt.

Frankenstein was taken and pleasured from the evening until early in the morning, over and over again, until Raizel had marked him inside and out all over again, until Frankenstein was convinced he was real and could barely think and eight hundred and twenty years, momentarily at least, melted away.


	10. Frankenstein shows Muzaka how to properly succ Rai.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raizel/Frankenstein/Muzaka requested by Queen_of_the_Ruckus.

“I’m bored. Hey Raizel, want me to suck you off?”

He turned from the window of his room. Slowly, Raizel blinked at Muzaka, who was sprawled casually across the couch in his open chested, maroon, fur collared jacket. He turned back to his window. “Do whatever you wish,” he said with no particular emotion.

Clouds drifted; birds chirped. The sun glinted across the window.

Muzaka smiled. “Sweet.”

* * *

It was a late afternoon on a Sunday, and so Frankenstein had the pleasant opportunity of enjoying tea and peace with his master. Cart of goods and sweets topped full, like many, many times before, he pushed it to Raizel’s room.

Upon opening the door, Frankenstein was confronted with a surreal tableau: a guest he had not been aware of, who had likely come through the open balcony attached to the bedroom, was kneeling before Raizel, a clawed, rough hand grasping at his hip and wrinkling his clothes. He moved his head jerkily, an unrefined, slobbering mess getting Master’s pants and the floor dirty. Serenely and with a most polite and pleasant smile, Frankenstein pushed the cart to the side and stepped forward. He respectfully nodded at Raizel, who nodded back.

He swiftly spun and kicked Muzaka off of Raizel and sent him flying across the room. “You’re doing it wrong!”

“Yo, what the hell?!”

Frankenstein threw Muzaka a dagger-sharp glare before haughtily turning back to Raizel and going to his knees and yet somehow he carried the air of a pretentious aristocrat who had judged Muzaka and his bedroom manners to be beneath him. “How is Master supposed to cum like that? You can’t even swallow around half of it.” Frankenstein, having to always be the best at anything and everything, proceeded to demonstrate his supposedly superior technique by pressing forward and taking his master into his mouth and down his throat completely. He looked up, hoping to see Raizel’s approval, and when he did, a light blush covering his master’s pretty face, he glanced over at Muzaka as if to gloat, _ I suck cock better than you. _

“You’re a real piece of work, you know?” Muzaka huffed as he brushed himself off and flopped back onto the couch.

Had Frankenstein’s mouth not been stuffed with cock, he would have been able to come up with a clever reply, but as he was busy licking and swallowing around his master, he could only give Muzaka a look as if to say, _ why of course. _

“At least you’re not bad to look at.”

Again, _ of course _.

When Muzaka reached under his own waistband to enjoy the display, Frankenstein popped his mouth off of Raizel’s cock to say, “If you get the couch dirty, I’ll destroy you.” He returned again to the imperative task of sucking his master off, silkily sliding his mouth over him, wet generously with saliva and precum. Frankenstein took great pleasure in feeling his lips stretch and throat constrict around Raizel, humming low in his chest and closing his eyes that were only slightly watering from the effort of it. His muffled moan was reminiscent of a content purr, and his lips glistened as they slid over Raizel’s slick length. His hands reached up and dipped under Raizel’s shirt to roam the contours of Master’s hips and stomach, dragging his nails gently against his skin. Frankenstein could feel himself heat and harden as he moaned indecorously and deliciously around the wet sounds of Raizel’s cock going in and out of his mouth.

“Frankenstein…” Raizel sighed, and Frankenstein loved hearing his name rasped so tenderly, sweet and soothing next to the slightly painful and twisted hold on his long hair.

When Raizel pressed Frankenstein tightly to him and came, Frankenstein could not help but moan indulgently, seeming to melt against him as his hand drifted down to grind against his own erection pressing to the front of his pants. A long glinting trail bridged Frankenstein’s lips to his master as he pulled back slowly, swallowing and blushing. He looked up coyly through his blonde lashes that appeared almost translucent in the warm rays of light cascading through the windows. “Master…” he began, voice soft and a little worn but having an unmistakably wondrous, youthful quality. “Would you care to have me this afternoon?”

Raizel’s eyes shifted to look at something to the side.

Frankenstein too glanced in that direction. “Oh. You’re still here,” he said upon seeing Muzaka and noting the hand shamelessly in his pants. Frankenstein sighed. “Just don’t make a mess. I don’t want to clean _ your _ cum off the nice furniture.” He did not admit it to Muzaka, but he did not mind an audience. He already knew he and his master were gorgeous, but there was also a thrill in making sure that other people knew as well, though Frankenstein did try to reign in his leviathan vanity to at least bearable levels in the presence of other people.

“Can I join in too?” Muzaka asked, grinning sheepishly.

“If you would be so kind as to go fuck your—”

“Frankenstein.” Raizel sighed. “Please be courteous to our guest.”

Frankenstein fell quiet and sharply scrutinized Muzaka for moment. “Fine, you can join, but keep your hands off of Master.”

Muzaka raised his hands, conceding. “Alright, alright.”

“Understand, I’m only doing this because of Master’s boundless generosity.”

* * *

“Oh, _ ooh! _” Frankenstein clutched at Raizel’s back, crushing the back of his shirt in his fingers as he buried his face into his master’s neck and shuddered. “Yes, please, yes,” he gasped. He wrapped his legs around his waist tighter, crossing his ankles over each other.

Muzaka’s long, sharp nails dug into the back of his thighs as he his rough, broad hands held him up, parting his legs compromisingly. “For all your talk, you seem to be enjoying yourself, Frankenstein,” Muzaka said, voice a deep, appreciative growl as he leaned his nose into Frankenstein’s soft, floral scented hair that was now tinged with the savory twang of sweat.

Frankenstein’s chest and throat bursted briefly with a sweetly strained moan as the two cocks filling him continued to move so mercilessly against his insides, stretching him far apart and driving the breath out of him. He huffed, squeezing his eyes shut to savor this painful, heated pleasure rocking through him. “God, you really are a dog,” he said.

For this, Muzaka, perhaps a little recklessly, bit down on Frankenstein’s exposed shoulder, sinking his canines into his skin almost enough to break it, but even he knew not to draw blood from Frankenstein in this way; it was taboo for everyone except for Raizel.

A high, surprised cry escaped Frankenstein before Raizel leaned into his lips, muffling him, and Frankenstein chased him in their kiss, mouth parted and swallowing eagerly as his ass twitched and squeezed, sweat and precum and cum trailing down his skin, some of it spotting the floor beneath him. Frankenstein, much to Muzaka’s curiosity, was trembling and whimpering, saturated and being swept under from feeling good.

Muzaka, watching carefully with a sort of wonder, paused for a moment. “You know Frankenstein...you’re rather cute like this.” Genuinely, Muzaka tried.

Frankenstein opened his eyes and regrettably parted from his master’s kiss. “Don’t be disgusting, Muzaka.” Then he kissed Raizel again.

Muzaka rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to be...like _ that _.”

Frankenstein yelped when Muzaka dragged his claws deeply into his thighs, enough to make his blood run, and thrusted into him with renewed vigor. Any retorts or thoughts for the matter quickly fled Frankenstein’s mind, and all he was left with was the climbing boil of pleasure. It coiled tightly in his core, ready to spring at a moment’s notice. When Raizel chose then to draw blood from Frankenstein in the most intimate way a noble could, through his fangs and lips and down his throat, making blood spill over Frankenstein’s neck and down his collarbone, red and warm, Frankenstein came. He shook, grasping helplessly at Raizel and moaning long and almost in agonized pleasure, too good. Frankenstein’s cock twitched hard in between their bodies as it dirtied them generously with white-hot cum.

Frankenstein sighed, resting his head against Raizel’s shoulder. He rumbled deep in his throat, and his body rode out the waves of his orgasm through gentle convulsion, tightly wringing the two cocks stuffed inside of him so completely, feeling like they could tear him apart if he wasn’t careful.

Muzaka grasped him tighter with his claws, and Frankenstein could feel his warm, abundant spill inside of him. Muzaka groaned against his hair, the musk of his sweat contrasting with the airy, floral shampoo.

Frankenstein opened his eyes. “...Who said you could do that?” he said quietly, voice a little raw but still wielding a sharp, dangerous edge.

“What? What did I do?” Muzaka was taken aback, confused.

“Who said you could cum inside of me? If I don’t want your cum on the furniture, what makes you think I want it _ inside? _”

Muzaka blinked. “You can’t be serious...Raizel gets to do it inside—“

“Are _ you _ Master?”

Raizel, knowing his long time bonded too well, let out a small sigh. “Frankenstein.”

“Yes, Master?” was Frankenstein’s immediate and obedient response.

“I would like some tea.”

“Oh, of course, right away, Master.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the dumbest things I’ve written.
> 
> To all the people who are still waiting for your requests, sorry it’s been taking me a while to get to all of them, but thank you so much for your patience and support! I’ve got a bit of a list of requests to get through, and I don’t know how long it will take me to get through them all. In the mean time, I hope you can still enjoy what I have posted. :)
> 
> Some logistics about requests (please read):  
You can request as many times as you’d like, but please only request one thing at a time (this goes for art for ‘NSFW sketches and junk’ as well), so if you have an active request that I have already accepted, please wait until that request is done before requesting another. However, if you would like to prioritise a later request, then I can fulfill that later request before the previous request. Hopefully this makes sense. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I can’t guarentee how soon I can respond, however, as school keeps me busy. Thank you for your understanding!


	11. Frankenstein helps Raizel with math homework.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raizel/Frankenstein with Raizel slapping Frankenstein's ass to ask for help with a math problem requested by wheresthemonet/Vulgar Darling.

Frankenstein crossed and uncrossed his legs, shifting nervously in his seat as he patiently waited for his master to finish his tea. The house was empty this Sunday evening, and Master, in his vast generosity, had decided to sacrifice an opportunity to spend leisure time with his school friends in order to be in Frankenstein’s company, and “finish vast amounts of math homework that is due tomorrow,” as he had put it. Frankenstein was not sure exactly when Raizel would get to doing that, however, as the heated vibrator in his ass suggested that they were in the middle of more indecorous play. For now it was only a gentle, low buzz. In one hand was a teacup; in the other, folded neatly across his lap, was the small, pink remote.

Raizel carefully placed the empty teacup down on the porcelain saucer and glanced up at Frankenstein across from him expectantly.

Frankenstein, picking up on the silent command, reached forward to take the teapot with both hands. His fingers flinched at the sudden jolt up his spine, but, miraculously, he managed not to spill any of the scalding hot tea, setting the pot down hastily down. His gracious, whimsical master had turned up the toy’s power just as Frankenstein was pouring.

“Ah, Master...are you having fun?”

Raizel innocently picked up his cup once again and took a sip. “Very much so.” Suddenly, he placed his cup down, pushed the teapot, sugar, and cream to the side, and leaned forward over the coffee table, supporting his weight with an arm and a leg, practically crawling on top. The other hand, he reached out to press and grind against the front of Frankenstein’s pants, in between his legs. “And you…?” Raizel rasped, breath against an exposed and too willing neck. “Are you having fun, Frankenstein?”

“Um…” Frankenstein took a breath, feeling heat on his face and the ache of a hardening erection. “Yes, of course, Master, with you, always.”

Raizel withdrew only slightly to give Frankenstein a better look. “Have you always been so dishonest, Frankenstein?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You want more than this. You are growing impatient with me. You wonder, ‘When will Master finish his tea already?’” He pressed harder and grasped at Frankenstein’s crotch and whispered against the shell of his ear, “You think, ‘When will Master strip me? When will he bite me? When will he fuck me? When will he fill me with his cum?’”

Frankenstein, feeling a little cornered and breathless, could only admit, “Yes...Master, yes.” He swallowed and was overcome with the desire to reach up around his master’s shoulders and pull him down closer, pressing their bodies together to beg him to do all those things he had the audacity to say out loud. But Frankenstein did not do this out of a self-imposed, subservient obligation. However, as the vibrator continued to drill him and as Raizel continued to massage the ache between his thighs, he could not help but sigh and buck up into him as his own hand gently brushed against Raizel’s working him dully to madness. “Master…”

Raizel withdrew and took his seat again. “But your fun will have to wait, Frankenstein,” he said and picked up his tea.

Frankenstein, flustered, hot, and aroused, could only sigh and muster his legendary patience. “Yes, Master,” he said.

* * *

By the time they made it to his master’s room—plush carpet under their feet and billowing white curtains like ghosts against the wide open window—Frankenstein was about ready to press Raizel down into the sheets, kiss the daylights out of him, and rut and grind against him with reckless abandon like an animal in heat, but he was Frankenstein, and being such, he would allow himself to do no such thing until Master requested it of him. So, Frankenstein only tugged at his ribbon and fiddled with the ends of his black jacket, straightening out any imaginary wrinkles. His gaze drifted down to his own erection pressing against his pants. A little brazenly, he caressed his arousal with a hand.

Distracted by himself, Frankenstein did not notice Master’s approach behind him until a sudden, firm smack on his rear wrung a gasp and then an appreciative groan at the sting from him.

“Master!” Frankenstein’s blood boiled with pleasant anticipation.

“...Can you help me with a math problem?”

“What?” Frankenstein blinked. Master had thrown him a curveball. “I mean—yes, of course.”

Though Frankenstein had been nothing but good, attentive, and obedient, bending to whatever whimsy compelled Raizel throughout the evening, a soft exasperation passed over his master’s features, like he could not believe how willing Frankenstein was to wait for his so called ‘fun.’

It was Raizel who sighed as he sat down at his desk—completely clean and clear except for the already open workbook, a small stack of papers, and a black gel pen. Frankenstein attentively stood behind him. “This one,” Raizel said as he pointed to a problem questioning the convergence of several infinite series.

Calmly, as if he was not sporting a noticeable hard on and had a vibrator nestled snugly inside of him, Frankenstein asked, “Do you remember the various tests for convergence, Master?”

“But this one does not resemble any of them in form.”

“You must rewrite it. Shall I show you, Master?”

Raizel almost pouted as a second of silence passed. “No,” he said. “You may kneel, Frankenstein.”

“Ah...Yes, Master.” Frankenstein did so at Raizel’s feet.

He picked up his pen and began to write. His other hand, he brushed gently through Frankenstein’s hair, and Frankenstein leaned softly into him.

As the sound of pen scribbling away at paper continued to fill the silence between them, Raizel withdrew his hand and undid his black belt before unbuttoning his pants, all while keeping his gaze trained on his academic work, as if Frankenstein was somehow beneath his acknowledgement, though they both knew this very well to be untrue.

On cue, Frankenstein reached forward to tug at his Master’s slacks and pull out his cock. Deftly, he kissed and covered it with his mouth behind the desk, wetting the length thoroughly with his well trained tongue. He sucked and swallowed, gaze low and concentrated. Pleasantly, he felt his own cock twitch with want as he dutifully serviced his master, hopefully making the endeavor of single variable calculus more entertaining. With hedonistic vigor, he slurped and plunged Raizel’s length down his warm, constricting throat. Saliva and precum made his lips glisten.

There was the hurried sound of a pen nib scratching against paper as Raizel crossed something out.

Inwardly, Frankenstein smiled. His hand drifted to massage at his own cock, still covered by his pants, and his thighs tensed, wanting to thrust against or into something himself.

Raizel’s thoughts of geometric sequences and comparison convergence tests were interrupted by, _ Master, you taste so good, _ and, _ You’re so hard. I want you to make a mess of me, Master. _

“Has your patience worn thin, Frankenstein?” Raizel’s voice—deep, quiet, and calm—drifted down to him.

Frankenstein moaned in response as he thrusted Master’s cock in and out of his slick mouth. He blinked, eyes watering slightly, as Raizel’s free hand pressed Frankenstein’s head down until his cock was sheathed to the hilt in his mouth and throat. _ Yes, Master, please, cum in my mouth. Let me swallow all of it. _

A sigh from deep in his chest. Raizel placed his pen down with a click, leaned back in his seat, and gave his dutiful, loyal companion what he asked for.

Frankenstein moaned and shuddered. His eyes fluttered closed as his throat worked to welcome Master’s warm, slick, and generous pleasure down into his core. Blushing heavily, he popped his head off of Raizel when he had made sure to drink everything and shamelessly licked his lips, though there was still drool on his chin. “Master,” he cooed as he sat back on his heels and looked eagerly, and, somehow, innocently up at him as he rested his cheek on Raizel’s leg.

Raizel, gentle as he was despite whatever sort of power play most pleased Frankenstein, smiled slightly down at him as well. “On the bed, Frankenstein.”

“Yes, Master.”

Raizel pressed Frankenstein down into the wide, downy bed like laying a precious treasure onto a pillow to be adored only from afar, but that was hardly the plan. He slotted his hand between Frankenstein’s legs to rub and grope at the hot, hard swell there and put his lips against his neck. Raizel turned vibrator to powerful buzzes at regular intervals that shook Frankenstein’s insides only to stop for a second, leaving him breathless, and then resume.

His jacket unbuttoned, ribbon undone, and shirt wrinkled, Frankenstein ached to be had, and he sighed and moaned wantonly and honestly. He rutted against his master’s hand and could feel his pants dampen as his cock strained against it in harrowing arousal. “Master...Master…” he whispered, he worshipped. His legs were shifting and he dug his heels and toes into the sheets. Out of a sweet, savory desperation, he closed his thighs around that hand, as if that would bring it any closer.

Raizel extended his fangs and indulged in the offering, sinking them deep into his neck and spilling red, red blood that trailed down Frankenstein’s skin and stained his collar and the white pillow.

“A-ah, Master—” Frankenstein huffed, eyes slipping closed.

As Raizel drank, somewhat like how Frankenstein had drunk from him, he continued to work him, insistent, merciless, but never giving him more than this.

“Master!” Frankenstein breathed. He was throbbing just under that grinding hand, feeling endlessly wanting—more touch, more skin, more heat—and yet painfully close. He clutched at Raizel, also wrinkling his pristine white uniform. Frankenstein tensed and jerked against him as he came, spilling and spilling in his pants and his master's hand most indecently. He shivered and moaned, hearing his wetness as Master continued to massage him, squeezing his orgasm out of him.

The black fabric under Raizel’s hand was soaked through, slick, and warm. Underneath his pants, Frankenstein’s thighs were smeared with cum. “You’ve made a mess, Frankenstein,” Raizel teased gently.

The vibrator inside of him finally ran out of power, and Frankenstein groaned in a dim, relaxed fatigue, wrapping his arms around Raizel’s shoulders and burying his face against his neck. “But you’ll make me even messier, won’t you, Master?”

Finally, Raizel slipped his hand into Frankenstein’s pants, fingers grasping at a wholly wet cock, covered in cum. “As you wish, Frankenstein…”

* * *

That Friday, when the students had received their homework back after grading, Raizel flipped his stapled stack of papers over to see a big, red forty percent circled at the top of the page. He hadn’t even gotten half of the problems correct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My god, the things you guys make me write.


	12. Ragar shoots and stabs Frankenstein.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rai/Franken/Ragar with Frankenstein enlisting the other two to help him with rape fantasy play.

There were a few things Ragar had to keep in mind as he blended into the dark shadows on the edge of night. His first attempt, at Frankenstein’s request, of such dangerous play had ended in both of them going home after Frankenstein had flatly refused his declaration of, “I will do the ‘jumping’ of you now,” in the middle of the road on Frankenstein’s way home from a grocery shopping trip. Afterwards, Ragar had, a little pathetically, sought out Sir Raizel’s advice for how to engage in such an extreme play of power with Frankenstein without being so coldly dismissed, and in his grand and gentle generosity, he extended a helping hand to Ragar.

The car was parked a few blocks away from the place Raizel had texted to Frankenstein, feigning having gotten lost in the sprawling city lights once again and wishing to be led home. For the night, Raizel and Ragar were co-conspirators.

Discreetly, the twin daggers of Kartas hissed into his hands, and Ragar disappeared like a phantom.

* * *

Frankenstein looked over his shoulder, having the distinct feeling of being followed as he stepped into the darkness of an obscure corner of the wooded park at the desolate hour of two in the morning. Above him, wind teased the leaves into rustling quietly, and it was only the wind, Frankenstein was sure, but the scene had the strange, dreadful aesthetics of a haunting. Nonetheless, he pressed on, determined to find his master safe and bring him home. As he pulled out his phone to message him again, the harsh glow bleaching his face white-blue, he found himself without cellular service.

At a subtle shift in the atmosphere, Frankenstein sparked with purple-black, electrifying the air before he was slammed into the grit of the ground with bruising and bone-bending force. The shadow, silent and oppressive, above and behind him, shoved his shoulder down with the hardness of a weapon, twisting him painfully as the other blade made quick work of his jacket and shirt, his skin exposed to the chilling night.

There were a few things Ragar needed to keep in mind and they were: (1) the safe signal was to touch one’s thumb and pinky finger together or tap on the partner's body three times in succession or yell out “Ramen,” (2) Frankenstein was willing to be taken between the hours of 3:00 pm and 4:00 am, and (3) surprise him.

Ragar wasted no time pinning Frankenstein in place by driving each blade straight through each hand and into the ground. Blood quickly spilled and soaked into the dirt.

Frankenstein’s wide eyes caught the silver glint of moonlight as he gasped quietly at the sudden shooting pain through his hands and arms. The daggers were driven all the way to the hilt, easily slicing through flesh, tendon, bone, and earth. To struggle and move his hands was to tear the wounds wider. Dirt caked under has fingernails. His hair was tightly gripped and pulled back as Ragar loosened his belt and pulled down his black pants with his other hand. Frankenstein winced.

“I hope this will satisfy you, Frankenstein,” Ragar murmured darkly. “Or perhaps it will not. Regardless, we will engage on my terms, as you have been so...cruel to me lately, and I believe this is only deserving.”

Frankenstein grit his teeth and groaned, pulling slightly at his hands still pinned to the ground, blood continuously oozing over his skin.

A few decades ago, Frankenstein had generously gifted Ragar a gun, a curious, destructive human invention, and rather quickly, Ragar had learned to wield it. A few years ago, Frankenstein had gifted him a bigger, badder, sleeker model. And tonight, Ragar pulled it out from under his jacket. Skillfully, he unloaded the bullets, placing the clip into his pocket, and used the weapon to push Frankenstein’s pants down to his knees. Slowly, Ragar slid the side of the cold, hard barrel up against Frankenstein’s smooth, pale inner thighs.

Frankenstein tensed. “What do you think you’re doing with—” His words were cut off by a strangled cry as he was suddenly forced apart without preparation. It made him jerk forward, and he blinked away the stars in his vision, eyes suddenly becoming damp.

For a moment, Ragar stilled, gripped by worry, but he continued, shoving the unsympathetic and foreign barrel of the gun deeper into him, as deep as it would go. Then, he drew it out only to slam it back in again.

It was hard to tell if it was rapture or agony that flashed across Frankenstein’s face. “Nggh! Hah—! Wait! No—” His fingers scrambled in the dirt. Frankenstein lowered his head and trembled miserably. The ends of his once pristine hair swept the ground.

The second time Ragar pulled the barrel back out, he had the mercy to generously pour lubricant over it (taken out of his other pocket), but he was no less demanding when he slammed it back in again and twisted it excruciatingly within the softness of Frankenstein’s body.

Frankenstein cried out, and his legs squirmed, wanting to press close together or curl towards himself, but Ragar, kneeling between them, kept them apart. Painfully, Frankenstein groaned.

“Do you like this?” Ragar quietly asked as he quickened his pace, the gun drilling into Frankenstein’s jerking body. “I am trying very hard for you; I always do, because you are my friend. Tell me you like this, Frankenstein.”

“...Hurts, it hurts,” Frankenstein groaned. Every sharp metal edge, every aggressive thrust, it made him feel like his insides were bruising and being scraped out. It made his body sing with fire, made his blood roar. Just beneath the surface, he could feel Dark Spear’s jump for joy and roll with thunder at indulging in violence. He was breathless. “Slow—slow down.”

“That is...the wrong answer.” Frankenstein jolted as Ragar yanked the gun out, glinting with fluids now, loaded it again with the clip in his pocket, and aimed it down. The shot rang in the air and ripped right through Frankenstein’s leg before exiting and getting embedded into the earth.

His face twisted terribly and he almost fell silent as all he could do was gulp for air. Frankenstein’s shoulders shook, and when he could at last cry out to this harrowing pain-pleasure, his voice was shaky and raw, barely coherent.

Ragar smoothly slipped his fingers into him as he pressed his weight down on Frankenstein’s back. “Look, Frankenstein, you are loose already.” Again, he unloaded the gun. With a soft thud, the clip fell to the ground this time. Ragar leaned forward and forced the tip of the barrel past Frankenstein’s lips, aimed against the inside of his cheek.

Frankenstein could only swallow down his pain as he continued to bleed from the new holes in his body. He moaned around the intrusion in his mouth and at the one in his ass and tightly shut his eyes, pinpricks of tears on lashes.

“Does it taste good, Frankenstein? I think it must taste better than tea and cookies.”

Frankenstein moaned in a pathetic sounding response and whimpered. He tensed then relaxed then tensed again as Ragar’s pressing and prodding fingers worked him until he shook and came, his ignored cock twitching hard and spilling shameless cum over the ground and on his pants between his legs. “Mnngh! Nn!” He thrashed weakly as if he could throw Ragar off that way as his so-called friend stirred against his inner walls with an increased intensity, dragging out his pained, overwhelming orgasm. Far from calming down even as he had just come, Frankenstein’s heart thumped wildly in excitement in his chest. He wanted to fight back, to light up the sky with devil-lightning, to beat and bite and claw his way out and spill blood, but for the sake of this particular helpless thrill, he refrained and let Ragar violently punish his body.

He gasped as the gun was withdrawn from his mouth only to enter his ass again, determined to brutalize his insides and pound him maddeningly into another climax. Though his wounds still ignited his nerves with pain, it was easier to accept the gun barrel into his body this time around, and again, Ragar pulled his hair taught. Frankenstein’s lashes fluttered, and he grimaced with the effort of keeping himself upright as his legs trembled. “Gh—”

“Frankenstein,” Ragar called, measured and gentle in uncanny contrast to the fervor, heat, and pain making his friend gasp for air. “I would like to show you a very good time.”

As Frankenstein rocked with another orgasm forced through him, he could only hazily anticipate the hours to come.

* * *

“Ragar! Stop! I don’t want to cum anymore!” His voice was desperate and hoarse. Frankenstein had been flipped onto his back, but his hands were re-pinned into the new position. Instead of a gun dragging inside of him, it was Ragar himself—hot, thick, and brutal. He gasped, arching and squirming, eyes wide and rapidly blinking. Inside, he was already dripping and soaked in Ragar’s previous releases, some of it sliding messily out of him and down his ass. He could hear its vulgar wetness as Ragar continued his persistent star-sparking pace, and he was sure it was frothing inside of him at the constant friction.

Frankenstein was weak with the worst kind of pleasure, and drool inelegantly covered his chin. He tossed his head back and shuddered. “No!” His chest rose and fell deeply and quickly. “You’re—you’re making me cum again!” Frankenstein was screaming with the last of his effort. As his cock tiredly tensed and twitched and spurted whatever it could over his bruised, scratched and sweat-shined body, Ragar yanked one of the blades out of Frankenstein’s hand and pressed it to Frankenstein’s hip.

He cut a long, shallow curve, then another and another and another, like ocean waves lapping at his skin.

Everything was hurting, stinging, and fatigued, but Frankenstein could not help but moan at the sensation of being slowly cut, of feeling his blood spill and continue to spill warmly. He wondered how much he had bled so far this early morning, as none of his wounds had been allowed to close, being constantly recut or redug or reimpaled by Ragar.

“Too much… Too much, please...I’m tired…” he breathed. Frankenstein’s eyes, heavy and hooded, wandered dreamily up to the sky. It had started to turn from being dark and inky to light and blue. In the distance was a touch of orange-pink where the sun was beginning to rise. He groaned and shut his eyes. “Please...please…” Frankenstein brokenly cried out as Ragar wrapped a hand around his exhausted cock; it was starting to become numb to him. “_ Master, please,” _ he begged.

There was a shift in the air—a passing, warm breeze. Quietly, Raizel descended and stepped forward, prim and proper and flooding the area with his expansive noble presence. The very dirt seemed to pay respects and part ways for him, but Frankenstein could only vaguely acknowledge him in his blurred vision and hazy consciousness.

“Ragar,” Raizel said in his deep, soothing voice, both authoritative and tender. “You are done here.”

And Ragar, dutiful and understanding of who was the so called ‘bigger man’, quietly slinked away, taking Kartas with him and leaving Frankenstein, bloody, dirty, exhausted, on the ground like roadkill, as if he could not care any less about his friend, whom he had had his way with for the past four hours.

Sleepily, Frankenstein managed to turn his head as Raizel approached and knelt by his side. He carefully guided Frankenstein to sit and lean onto him. 

Frankenstein sighed deeply and blinked the remnant tears from his eyes. They sat together in silence for a moment before Frankenstein leaned further into Raizel and whimpered quietly for his master, shaken, languid, and slow, wanting nothing more than the comfort and warmth of his personal savior after being so ravished and taken apart. “Master...Master…” he rasped as they wrapped their arms around each other. Frankenstein pressed his smeared face into Raizel’s shoulder as remnant tremors shook and pressed a quiet groan out of him. “Ngh…”

Raizel whispered in return, “Frankenst—”

The leaves rustled and rained down as Ragar slammed to the ground in front of them both, kicking up a cloud of dust. “I have brought the first aid!” he announced.

“Ragar!” Frankenstein straightened and, suddenly, looked rather annoyed, the tired, tender look wiped off of his face completely. “Give me time to enjoy the afterglow. And you interrupted Master. I don’t even need first aid.”

Ragar quickly reigned in the subtle defeated crease on his face and pressed on with an earnest determination. “We should at least clean and wrap your wounds,” he said as he also kneeled beside Frankenstein. In one hand was a three liter bottle of water and in the other was a hard plastic box of medical supplies.

Raizel nodded, pointedly taking Ragar’s side on the matter, and so subduing Frankenstein from arguing as he was wont to do.

“You have lost a lot of fluids. Drink.” Ragar shoved the clumsy bottle towards Frankenstein, who took it with vaguely disguised amusement but did not protest as he unscrewed the cap and generously gulped down the water and its soothing coolness. As soon as the bottle was out of his hands, Ragar opened the first aid box and sifted around for the antiseptic, cleaning pads, gauze, and bandages.

When Ragar took it upon himself to pull up the leg of Frankenstein’s pants to dress the bullet wound, it was caked with dried blood but had already begun to stitch itself back together. Red-brown smeared and flaked off as Ragar wiped at it. “I am...sorry, for this.” His voice was tense and weighted and hris brows were creased seriously.

Frankenstein scoffed. “You’ve done worse to me when we spar.” He sighed with sleepy ease and relaxed again against Raizel’s shoulder, closing his eyes to rest.

Carefully, Ragar began to pack the wound and wrap the bandages. “I understand that this is play, Frankenstein, but I do not like taking you against your will and forcing you to bend for me. It is..._ perverse _. Must I be the villain in your elaborate schemes?”

Frankenstein murmured rather simply that, “If you don’t like it, then we don’t have to do this again.” His words were quiet and slurring into each other and his breathing slow and shallow.

Raizel, with a small, endeared smile, lowered Frankenstein to doze off on his lap. The early sun streaming through the leaves made gently shifting kaleidoscopes of his skin.

“Should we let him rest here, Sir, or bring him back?” Ragar asked.

Raizel nodded with great understanding. “Frankenstein would better appreciate waking up in a clean bed than in the dirt.”

Ragar nodded as well. “That is very wise, Sir Raizel.”

* * *

When Frankenstein awoke, he was without his shirt but covered in bandages and the soft, cool weight of his blankets. He could feel his limbs, loose and sore, vaguely protest as he sat up and stretched his arms and shoulders. Both his hands were wrapped neatly, though he was sure that he had stopped bleeding by now.

His door creaked open, and Ragar peered inside as if he had become very shy. “You are awake.” He stepped inside, holding a tray with both hands. It was topped with a glass of water, a mug of black coffee, a stack of napkins, and a steaming bowl of udon noodle soup with a spoon and chopsticks. “Breakfast.” He placed it with a resounding clink of ice against glass and spoon against bowl on the bedside table.

Frankenstein blinked at it as his the corner of his lips curved upwards. “Wow, thanks.” The bowl was warm in his hands.

Ragar stared at him intensely.

Frankenstein stared back. “You...really feel bad about the whole thing?”

He tugged at his mask and glanced away at the embarrassment of being so transparent. Ragar nodded. “I do not understand why you require such...extreme means to experience pleasure. I would be content with more subdued activities...like on the television.”

“Like on television?” Frankenstein sipped at the savory broth.

Ragar tugged at his mask again and glanced down at the floor, his embarrassment becoming clearer. “I would like to go on those dates. Such as to the coffeeshop, or the aquarium, or the ferris wheel…”

Frankenstein almost snorted his soup but managed to collect himself. He cleared his throat. “My god, ‘the ferris wheel’ he says... What are we? Fourteen?” Frankenstein mumbled to himself, vastly and snidely amused. He huffed. “Fine, we can go on a date. Noon, today. We can get lunch at a coffee shop, go on a ferris wheel, and do whatever else you’ve seen on TV.”

Ragar’s eyes brightened. He looked up and nodded with quiet enthusiasm. “I will get ready,” he said, turned on his heel, and dashed out of the room.

Frankenstein looked at the door left ajar and sighed with a twinkling fondness for his friend as he finished his noodles.


	13. Frankenstein cuts Ragar up and almost fucks his organs.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frankenstein/Ragar, vivisection, blood, gore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps I should just leave a little warning here for the graphic nature of this chapter. If you're uncomfortable with: blood, gore, getting cut open, surgery, surgical instruments, and emetophilia, then you might not like this.

“You’re sure you want to go forward with this?” Frankenstein adjusted the wide disk of the surgical lighting, shining it on Ragar, who was lying down on the bottom half of the narrow wheeled bed in the center of the sterile operating theater and watching him curiously.

“It should not be very different from our usual sparring.”

“I suppose not.” Frankenstein smirked, sympathetic. “But, if it gets too much, you know how to signal to stop.” With his gloved hands, he plucked a bottle of solution and a round cotton wipe off the table of sharp surgical instruments. “So, are you ready?”

Ragar nodded.

“Lift your shirt please.” As Ragar did so, Frankenstein tilted the cold solution into the pad and generously wiped down Ragar’s abdomen. “This should numb you somewhat for now.” He placed the solution and wipe down and picked up one of the surgical blades. It glinted in the harsh white light, and Frankenstein held it between his fingers as if it was an object of intense intimacy. He smiled and looked down at Ragar, eyes roaming over his clean, exposed skin. “You know, back in the day…” He placed the tip of the blade centered a few centimeters beneath where Ragar’s diaphragm would be. The cold, hard edge sunk in. “The criminal nobles I would catch, they would be in a similar situation to yours right now. Amusing, isn’t it?” Blood welled, and Frankenstein’s eyes softened with a distant nostalgia. Deeply, and as smooth and clean as butter, he pulled the blade downwards, slicing skin and tissue all the way to Ragar’s waistband. “I would put them in their respective places.”

Ragar gasped, and became deathly still, hesitating to even make his chest rise and fall with breath as the fresh wound flooded with blood.

Frankenstein did not bother to cauterize anything. He simply reached for the hovering metal arms clasped to the side of the bed. He bent and adjusted them, firmly and widely parting skin and flesh with the retractors, and Ragar opened for him like red blossoms.

There was something uncanny about cool air brushing against his exposed insides that were normally tucked away behind muscle and skin. For now, Ragar thought it did not hurt any more than their usual brand of friendly violence in which they exchanged wounds with Kartas and Dark Spear, but he still had to swallow down his rising nervousness. He stared down at his separated flesh and could feel his body attempt to stitch itself together only to be held apart by the metal arms. He had been stabbed and impaled before by Frankenstein, more times than he cared to remember at this point, but here, his body willingly held still and obedient for the blade, he was sliced and wrenched open further than ever. The shine of his soft internals was bizarre, like in a bad dream, and Ragar felt his heart stutter and speed up, reminiscent of the fight and flight of battle.

“Hm…” Frankenstein’s gently lidded eyes admired him. His hand drifted down to Ragar’s pants to undo his belt, and it slotted in between Ragar’s thighs and gently gripped and massaged at his crotch. “Perhaps I should make you feel at least somewhat good before the medication wears off.” He pulled off Ragar’s pants and settled himself in between his legs that hung off the end of the bed. After quickly slicking his hands, Frankenstein pressed his fingers past Ragar’s entrance as he firmly stroked at his cock, smearing blood over and within him.

Ragar huffed and squirmed. He could feel the slowly rising dread as the obscenity and pain of the situation began to settle in him, sinking into and chilling him to his core. Nonetheless, he hardened obediently for Frankenstein as those deft, surgeon hands touched him and pressed against him knowingly. They dragged pleasure from his body with excruciating ease.

Frankenstein was pumping him and driving his fingers into him and stretching him forcefully. It made him shiver and sigh. He twitched and moaned quietly. For a moment, the pain blended well enough with pleasure to shake and intoxicate him.

Frankenstein smiled and hummed, clearly entertained by the entire display. “I think it’s time I should have some fun myself.” Suddenly, he withdrew his slicked hands from Ragar, making him huff, and then he undid his own belt, pulled out his cock, and shoved it into Ragar’s ass.

Ragar’s mouth opened, a wordless moan falling from him as his eyes glazed over and he wrapped his legs around Frankenstein’s waist. His stomach twitched, and the sting of the open cut was sharpening. The numbness of the medication had already started to wear off. Ragar groaned, shutting his eyes tightly, as Frankenstein moved and dragged inside of him, sending his body into flames. He only opened them wide and suddenly when pain flared and rocketed up his spine. Frankenstein’s hand was in him, gripping, churning, displacing his internals blithely, lacing his fingers in between the folds of his guts. It was utterly wrong, and Ragar’s shaking body wanted nothing more than to get the intrusion out, rearrange itself, and close back up, but Frankenstein’s hand stayed, reaching and prodding, playful.

“A-agh—” Ragar found it hard to breathe. His fingers curled into fists and scrambled against the unforgiving surface of the bed. His face twisted and creased tragically. Some squelch, some terrible wet sound—perhaps Frankenstein had gripped or twisted something too hard and ruptured a part of the delicate machinery of the body as Ragar shuddered and coughed. He spat the blood and mucous rising in his throat out through his mask, soaking it thickly.

“You’re taking this like a champ,” Frankenstein said, thrusting hard into him. He fucked him as if he had not laid him down on a surgical bed and had him pried open before him.

“Wait—” Ragar groaned. He found himself constantly gasping for air as more blood rose into his mouth. “This hurts, this hurts, Frankenstein…” His mind was swimming.

“Of course it does.” Frankenstein tightened his grip on Ragar’s heated cock. “But you’re still pretty hard for someone who looks like they’re about to die.”

“Ngh...!”

“Can you cum like this? The sooner you cum, the sooner it will be over.” The corners of his lips turned up, and with his bloodstained gloves shoved into Ragar’s entrails, he did look like those gruesome legends of the noble-hunting monster whispered about in disbelief within ancient Lukedonian estates.

Ragar blinked, feeling tears prick his eyes. This was surreally different from their usual sparring in which cuts were quick, in and then out within the second, and they did not tear and hold each other like this, mixing pain and visceral pleasure into a confusing, overwhelming, mind numbing force that punched agonized cries from him. He clenched around Frankenstein sliding in and out of him, trying his best to feel good, to like this all enough to make his cock throb and cum like Frankenstein wanted. He would be willing to do many things if Frankenstein only wanted him to.

“Here, your small intestine.” Frankenstein traced its labyrinthine path down. “Your large intestine.” He wrapped his fingers around something and squeezed. “And right here, you can feel me inside of you.”

“You’re gripping it too hard—Frankenst—” He was cut off by a sharp gasp.

Frankenstein moved whatever part of his human-mimicked digestive system that was covering his length like it was a cocksleeve, and Ragar thought he really could die like this.

Ragar groaned. He slammed his head back against the bed, staring up miserably at the lights as blood and other fluids continued to soak through his mask and run down his chin. His cock twitched, Frankenstein still knowing to please him in the right places. Ragar tensed and jolted, squirming, but not too much under the careful hold of the retractors. He couldn’t really believe he would orgasm to this, but he could feel his cock pulse and surge with cum as his climax rolled through his body, momentarily sending the terribleness of the vivisection into a merciful haze in his high. “Oo-oh…” He shuddered and sighed, long and low, making himself relax a little. “Mnnh…”

“Huh, you did it.” Frankenstein looked rather pleased as he stroked Ragar’s length one last time, gathering his fresh cum onto his fingers. He smeared it against Ragar’s inner thigh, slicking his skin. “Good job.”

Though he still trembled and was caught in a perverse pain and sense of wrongness, Ragar could not help but feel content at hearing that simple and rare praise from Frankenstein, like he had done something right and good by him. It was enough to make Ragar blush innocently. “Are we...done?” His voice was weak and quiet. He swallowed.

Frankenstein smiled. “No. I lied.” He reached towards the upper regions of Ragar’s cavity. “I haven’t had my fun yet.” He continued slamming his hips against Ragar’s as his hand fished around.

Ragar groaned and shut his eyes, steeling his resolve to see his friend’s pleasure through to the end.

Frankenstein hummed. “Oh, what’s this?” He grasped and squeezed it firmly with his hand wrist-deep in gore.

Ragar coughed and jolted up. Frantically, he turned his head to the side and pulled his mask down. He heaved, shoulders shaking, until he brought up what they had had for dinner. The vague, half dissolved contents of his stomach splattered graphically onto the bed, some of it getting onto his long hair. Tears slightly wet his cheeks, and he could only bring himself to gasp again and again between his heaving and coughing.

Finally, Frankenstein slammed into him and bent over, groaning appreciatively as he came inside of Ragar. But before he could calm down from it, he quickly slid out of Ragar and positioned himself to stroke the rest of his cum onto Ragar’s internals. Sighing, Frankenstein smeared and mixed the cloudy white fluid into the wet surface of his organs.

“This is awful…” Ragar groaned, watching the scene unfold. He was tired. He was hurt. Thoroughly taken apart. His heart was beating madly, on the verge of resembling panic, and he had long given up on controlling his tremors and crying in any way, as undignified as he looked.

“Here’s an idea…” With both hands Frankenstein removed the retractors and pushed Ragar further up the bed, giving himself room to climb on top of him. He straddled him and leaned over. Brutally he pried apart Ragar’s flesh again with his own hands as he positioned the head of his cock against Ragar’s already bruised and abused viscera.

“What—no, no...Frankenstein…” Ragar reached out to grip Frankenstein’s shoulders, on the verge of crushing them.

Slowly, Frankenstein began to press in.

“Ugh! Wait!” He gasped and then cried out. He thrashed and writhed. Blinking rapidly as he tried to clear his blurring vision and mind enough to think anything coherent. “A—ah! Stop! Stop!” With the urgency of disaster, he patted Frankenstein’s arm thrice, a signal for a hard stop to their activities. His mouth was open though he was past the point of being able to vocalize much.

Frankenstein stilled and looked up at him, withdrawing. “Ragar, look—look—it’s done—it’s over,” he comforted quickly, suddenly entirely more gentle and greatly concerned.

“Nngh…” Ragar’s face was exposed and smeared with blood, mucous, and tears, his expression agonized. He still gripped at Frankenstein’s sleeves, his knuckles white and body wracked with receding and distant tremors. They stayed like this, still and silent for a moment before Ragar finally sighed and slowly let go.

“Stay still. I’ll clean and stitch you up,” Frankenstein murmured.

“Mn...” Ragar nodded, relaxing back in a daze, utterly drained from the experience, thoughts and speech seeming like very far away and foreign concepts to him.

After getting off the bed and replacing his gloves, Frankenstein began his work like a proper doctor.

* * *

He was wheeled out of the operating theater, and when he was well and alert enough to sit up, Ragar touched at the bandages snuggly hugging him and peered around to find the lab empty. On a nearby chair was his black shirt, thoughtfully washed and still warm from the dryer.

The lab doors opened. “Take it easy the next couple days,” Frankenstein said. He approached with a waffle cone topped with green tea ice cream in his hand. “The cut was clean and I did relatively little damage, so it shouldn’t take very long to heal with your levels of regeneration...but that was still a lot that you went through.” He held out the ice cream. “Your favorite. We were out, so I just stepped outside to buy some. There’s more upstairs.”

Ragar gently took it as if it were the most valuable thing in the world—the shiniest gem, the rarest flower, the most ancient artifact. He took it like friendship. 

“Thank you, Frankenstein.” He looked down at the generous and perfectly round scoop and delicately nibbled at its creamy, cold surface.

Frankenstein sighed, taking a seat on the bed next to him. “You know, you don’t have to push yourself so far for me. This type of stuff, it’s not that important.”

“You are my friend, Frankenstein. I will do all I can for you.” Ragar bit a chunk off his ice cream. Despite his steadfast words and resolve, the memory of his snivelling, dirty, gruesome state from just a little earlier made him blush and look down. Nonetheless, he continued, “This is important, because you are important, Frankenstein.”

Frankenstein gave him a wry, defeated smile, unable to argue without making himself out to be the biggest hypocrite in the universe. “Fine, fine…” He stood up grandly before Ragar. “Whenever you’re feeling better, you, Master, and I can go out for the day and do something a little less terrible and less resembling of a war crime.” He smiled, and Frankenstein knew just how to smile to impart the greatest confidence within a person. That was Ragar’s experience.

Ragar also smiled behind his ice cream. “I would like that. Thank you, Frankenstein.” Quickly, he munched the rest of his dessert. Then, “I am feeling better now,” he declared.


	14. The Orchid Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frankenstein takes Ragar to a secret sex dungeon club and shares the goods.

Ragar trails closely behind, eyes alight with curiosity at the sight of the pristinely polished ice cream parlour, but, dishearteningly, they do not stop for ice cream.

Frankenstein leads them to the back, black briefcase in hand. He flashes a card at the uniformed server standing by. The server nods, and they walk through the generic kitchen double doors and descend down a winding flight of stairs. Despite wearing high black heels, Ragar keeps pace perfectly well.

The clicks of their shoes against the steps become accompanied by the steady thump of distant music, muffled but deep. Eventually, they arrive at another set of arched white doors, large and grand with Roccoco sensibilities. Above the door is the depiction of a blooming orchid flower drawn in neon tubes of light. They step inside.

The music and lights consume them, beating their chests and casting colorful moving shadows on their skin, respectively.

They weave through the people and find seats at the edge of the room. After some lounging, they acquire bottle service for themselves and begin the drinks.

There is distant cheering that bleeds into the adrenaline fueled music. Ragar looks around and his eyes pick out peculiar sights under the amorphous, shifting colors. A slim, elegant woman snakes around a pole, dancing with strength and ease, her muscles appearing sculpted under the lighting. In the corner of his eye, a man sporting a leather collar bows his head to his mistress. A couple is kissing and kissing against a wall.

Frankenstein brushes aside the empty bottle and two glasses. He sets his briefcase on the table and clicks it open. Inside are hefty lengths of rope. "Red, I think it'll look nice against your skin."

Ragar tugs at his mask.

They approach the small stage in the middle of the room. The sturdy metal frame Ragar is to be suspended from has already been set up.

Ragar's jacket falls to the floor. People peer up at them, dozens of hungry eyes drawn magnetically.

Frankenstein's eyes slip down Ragar's body expectantly.

Ragar stills for a moment, suddenly a little hesitant. He glances at the audience and makes his decision; he begins to undo his belt and zipper. His pants soon join his jacket.

People's eyes widen, eyebrows raised curiously. A few quirked lips and whispers to neighbors.

Ragar takes a breath and steps closer to Frankenstein, ready.

He lifts Ragar's shirt, exposing his slight chest as Frankenstein begins to bind him.

His arms are tied behind his back. The rope holds Ragar snugly, pressed in criss-crossed paths against his body, as he is lifted into the air. The slight roughness of the rope shifts against the skin on his thighs and chest. He is suspended by points from his harnessed chest and arms and from both thighs such that his legs are spread open before the crowd of people. The rope holds him firmly and intimately, like a many-limbed extension of Frankenstein that expands his presence over Ragar. His heels dangle, the ground several feet below him. Ragar is freed to be helpless and exposed before the public, no longer the stately, straight-laced clan leader he once was. He feels his face heat and his chest squeeze.

Frankenstein smiles at him, appreciative, eyes glimmering under the lights. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black silk blindfold that he secures over Ragar's eyes.

The world dips into darkness, and Ragar focuses on the sensations overcoming him. The ropes hold and caress him securely; he feels their tension as he shifts. The harness is tight around his chest, making his tits appear to slightly swell. The air is chilled to his exposed nipples. Music reverberates through him, and there is the scent of alcohol and floral air freshener wafting through the airconditioned space. He wonders how he must look to the patrons. He wonders how he must look to Frankenstein. Beautiful, he hopes.

Ragar can hear a few inquisitive exclaimations, likely at the sight of his peculiar anatomy. Instinctively, his pussy clenches and his thighs tense.

There is breath on his neck. "Relax..." Frankenstein tells him, voice low. "We'll have a good time."

A subtle pop from a container cap and Ragar feels a cold liquid pour over his cock. It runs down in between his thighs and over his sex and then drips to the floor.

Frankenstein's broad hand begins to work at his cock, and in this position, in this environment, it flusters Ragar more than usual.

He tilts his head down as if it will hide his face any more than it is already hidden.

"They all think you're beautiful," Frankenstein says. "They're watching you like they want to come up here and fuck your tight little ass until you pass out." His fingers slip inside of him and prod knowingly at his vaginal walls. "Doesn't that make you happy, Ragar?"

"Mn." Ragar obediently nods once, knowing what is expected of him, as he presses his hips forward, spreading his legs further apart, ancient noble ego long abandoned. He knows there are humans watching him, and he basks in their attention. He is raised above them and bathed in light. At the back of his mind, this feels like worship. But he knows better than to believe that it actually is; those days of noble-gods have long gone.

Frankenstein's grasp on his cock is firm and his slicked hands slide easily along its length. His other hand slams against his wet lips and before long, his pussy is dribbling. The movement of Frankenstein fingerfucking him sends droplets of lube and arousal arcing towards the floor.

Ragar huffs. Behind the blindfold, his eyes are shut tight. His thighs shift but he is held securely by the bondage. His pleasure speeds towards the edge. The heavy beat of electronic music and the presence of the crowd he knows surround them makes Ragar performative, and he arches towards Frankenstein's devious hands that know Ragar far too well. He feels his cock twitch and his pussy tighten around Frankenstein's fingers.

Ragar's mouth opens, caught in a silent cry of feeling good, but then Frankenstein quickly withdraws, abandoning him at the edge and leaving him breathless. Ragar strains against his binds, pressing his hips futilely forward. After a moment, he relaxes back again, sighing. His vagina clenches and opens, wanting to be filled and stroked again.

"We have to put on a good show, Ragar," Frankenstein chides. "Make sure to tell us when you're cumming."

Ragar swallows and nods.

Frankenstein's hands are on him again. They are warm and deceitfully smooth. He pumps Ragar's cock and drills into him, dragging his fingers brutally against places that make Ragar tremble and sigh.

Ragar twitches in his hold, seeing stars. He feels the hurried climb of pleasure, and his breathing becomes short and fast, the cage of his chest constrained by the the binds. He feels himself, already wet, become wetter, and he knows he is dripping onto the floor and shamelessly soaking Frankenstein's hand.

He gasps, his mouth open wide. "I'm cumming!" he rasps. His jaw clenches. He shakes and moans behind tight lips. Slick gushes from him and cum surges through his cock, some landing on his stomach and thighs and some obscenely splattering on the floor. Ragar tenses and his hips jerk in the moment the coiling heat within him snaps. Being brought to orgasm by his companion in front of dozens and dozens of eyes fills Ragar with a peculiar mix of submission and pride, laid bare before the masses, picked apart by their eyes and Frankenstein's hands.

Distantly, he hears applause. Someone whistles from the back. Ragar knows there will be an encore.

Frankenstein's fingers are in him again, merciless in pace. They strike him deeply and sharply. Ragar clenches around him.

"Go on, Ragar. Show the audience how much you love it when your pussy makes your cock cum."

"Nngh..." Even blindfolded, Ragar knows he flushes deeply at Frankenstein's words and continued brutishness.

It is not long before he is at the heights of pleasure again, fluids flying at the thrust of Frankenstein's fingers, his palm slapping the base of his cock and his vulva rhythmically. Ragar tilts his head back, his chest heaves, and he moans quietly, longingly. He jerks, curling inwards. "Cumming—" he sighs and then does so. His consciousness rattles, the rest of the world — music, heat, people — slip far away in the timeless moment of orgasm. His pussy squirts, aching and gratified, on Frankenstein's hand. Cum slides down his shaft and more oozes from the tip as Frankenstein's hand returns to milk his cock.

Ragar tilts his head down and breathes deeply.

The hand in his pussy slides down to his ass and presses in as Frankenstein continues to rub his cock. The fingers spread him apart and reach as deeply as ever, smearing his own slick within him.

A deep, pleased rumble reverberates in Ragar's chest.

"I know this isn't enough to satisfy you, Ragar," Frankenstein says. "So, I think it's about time for some audience participation. What do you say?"

Behind his blindfold, Ragar's eyes shoot wide open. His head perks up, questioning and helpless. He swallows. A beat of considerate silence passes. Then, Ragar nods.

"I consent," he says.

"_Great._" He can hear Frankenstein's grin.

There is some shuffling around him. Frankenstein welcomes volunteers from the crowd. Then there is a steadying warmth to Ragar's back. His friend rests his reassuring hands on Ragar's shoulders.

Someone, a stranger, stands in between his legs and looms over him. There is the sound of a belt and zipper.

"Now remember, Ragar," Frankenstein's voice says to him from behind.

The head of the stranger's thick, heavy cock presses against his ass.

"It is only polite to let the patrons know when you're about to cum. They don't know you as well as I do, after all."

The stranger pounds into him, splitting Ragar open.

Ragar gasps and shudders.

Frankenstein's breath ghosts over his ear. His voice drops to a low rumble. "Let's see how long you last..."

* * *

"Hah — cumming — cumming again..." Ragar gasps. His heels kick the air. He arches back against Frankenstein who still holds him steady.

The stranger — the sixth or seventh one now — continues to fuck him through his shuddering climax, making him spurt from his cock and his pussy with thrust after thrust. His movements are frantic, composure long forgotten. Cum, lube, and slick pool on the floor and subsequent gushes result in little splashes of their own.

The music is euphoric and dizzying. The stranger smells of fresh shampoo and heavy cologne. The ground is far beneath him. His world is darkened. Pleasure lights up his spine. Sensations blur into a disorienting high.

The stranger cums in him and then withdraws. By now, Ragar has been pumped with so much cum that as soon as the cock slips out of him, a sloppy mix from the various patrons lands heavily into the pools on the floor as his pussy aches and convulses.

Someone else replaces the previous man. "Oh, you're a darling," a woman says, her voice velvety and confident. Her slim hands trace his exposed skin, and her long nails scratch along his inner thigh. "I've got a little present just for you, Dear." A cold bullet vibrator easily slips into Ragar. The stranger turns it on to its highest setting.

Then, something hard and blunt rests against his ass. The girthy, ribbed form of the woman's strap-on drives into him and steals his breath.

Ragar tosses his head back, mouth wide and gasping. His body is worn and sensitive but shown little mercy. The vibrations shake him to his very core, and free him of his mind. He moans, abandoned.

"I'm — I'm cum—!" He quivers and convulses. Sweat covers his skin and saliva slips from the corner of his lips and dampens his mask. "A—ah..." He groans. Still being fucked endlessly, Ragar leans back and tilts his face up towards his friend. _"Frankenstein..."_ he murmurs, longing, aching, desperate. Ragar hears a friendly sigh and a soft chuckle.

"Madam, I believe my friend's had enough."

"Oh? So soon?" She chuckles as well. "I understand."

The vibrations gradually slow to a stop.

"You can keep the present, Dear. Something to remember me by," the stranger says before she takes her leave.

Suspended, Ragar is covered in cum — some even drips from his heels — and sweat. His abused ass and pussy twitch as they attempt to recover. He is boneless, spent. Ragar feels like he might melt right through the fibers of the rope. He squints briefly against the lights when the blindfold is peeled off his face, his eyes slightly damp with tears from the effort his body has been put through. He only stares ahead, dazed.

Spotting a passing server, Frankenstein waves the man over. He tips him generously for the fresh bottle of wine on the tray. Swiftly, he uncorks it and then tilts the drink into his mouth.

Ragar blinks when Frankenstein leans over him and covers his mouth with his own. Alcohol passes between their lips and through the mask. Ragar sucks and gulps it down as if he is parched, grateful for the drink. His mask becomes messily soaked. He swallows and sighs when they part.

Frankenstein simply lets him stay there in still suspension for a few long moments, cum still dripping from in between his thighs in front of everyone to see. Ragar is utterly slack and basks in the merciful afterglow. He stares up at the ceiling. The neon lights shift and make abstract shapes in his vision.

Eventually, he is gently lowered to the ground and finds his strength to stand again. Frankenstein is in front of him, undoing the last of the knots, and Ragar cannot help but sigh and lean into him, resting his forehead on his shoulder. They remain quiet and close as they leave the stage together to retreat once again to their privacy. Frankenstein's hand on Ragar's waist steadies and grounds him.

They find a secluded booth with expensive leather seats to rest upon. They sit next to each other, now discreetly and perhaps a little magically cleaned and dressed. Ragar relaxes until his head leans against his friend's shoulder.

Frankenstein places a hand on Ragar's thigh. "Did you find that overwhelming?" He asks.

"Hm."

"Did you like it?

"I did." Ragar closes his eyes. "But I think I'd prefer your company over a stranger's, Frankenstein." His breathing is shallow and steady, calmed like the sunbreak after a storm. He is soothed.

They enjoy each other's silent company for a long while, the backdrop of neons, music, dancing, and sex seemingly distant.

"Frankenstein."

"Hm?"

Ragar opens his eyes. "I would like ice cream."


End file.
